The Delineator

THE DELINEATOR

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AUGUST
1919

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THE COPY

From the painting by
LAWRENCE HERNDON

SAMUEL MERWIN’S NEW NOVEL “HILLS OF HAN”
STORIES BY ALICE HEGAN RICE * DANA GATLIN
GRACE SARTWELL MASON * MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY

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1

THE

HONORE

DELINEATOR FOR

WILLSIE EDITOR JAMES EATON

AUGUST 1919

TOWER MANAGING EDITOR

NATIONALIZING WOMEN

re P ort came from Russia several months ago. Of all the astound¬
ing news that has come from Europe during the past five years,
none has been more unbelievable than this, "its purport was that
the Bolshevik Government of Russia had ruled that marriage as a
permanent arrangement between men and women was done away
with, and that all unattached women over eighteen were subject to choice by
any man of any class or type. In other words, that women of Russia were
become the public property of the men of Russia.

At first here in America nobody believed the report. People of Bolshevik
sympathies here and in the Allied countries anxiously denied the statement
as one put out by anti-Bolshevist forces to discredit the Reds. A little later,
however, other Bolshevist sympathizers admitted that the news was correct
and boldly added that with such idealists as the Bolshevists, women assumed
an importance greater than the world had ever known.

Still later, American travelers, returning from Russia, shrugged their shoulders
and said that we must remember that Russia’s standard of morals always had
been different from America’s. And, finally, in the many alarms and anxieties
stirred up by the peace negotiations, the hateful decree was obscured for some
time.

Then, however, the ruling was repeated in Budapest and in certain sections
of Germany where the Reds had gained a seemingly firm footing. And once
more American women gasped.

No matter if Russian morals have always been different from ours, it has become
evident that wherever Bolshevism rears its ugly head this obnoxious decree
goes forth, that il it gains sufficient courage here to put forth open propaganda,
it will announce the nationalization of American women.

If this idea were not so repulsive, it would be amusing—amusing to think
that a group of people who were fighting to put over a political idea should be
so stupid as to mix it up with sex propaganda, and not a wholesome propaganda
at that, but one that louses in every woman of Christian breeding an antagonism
the profoundest a woman may know5 a propaganda that attempts with one sweep
of the pen to change the unchangeable.

For the ethical evolution of the world has been built upon the morality of
womankind. The spiritual growth of the race has been based on the ever in¬
creasing tendency to keep women inviolate; safe in the sanctity of home.
Woman’s purity was a biological ideal long before it was a religious one. Let the
Bolsheviki with their disgusting decrees not forget that fact. And let us
American women remember that the world is very, very small these days, and
neither Budapest nor Moscow is so very far away that we dare to' ignore
what happens to their women.

marriage and in business and Mary was free to carrv out the pet dream of her life
She was going to learn to swim!

Her husband laughed at her. So did all her friends and relatives. But Mary
didn t lauglu She always had dreamed of gliding gracefully and swiftly through
the water, gliding with a sense of power and freedom that she was sure was given
by swimming alone.

When she was a young girl she couldn’t learn because she lived in a prairie
to\v n. So she 11 ied to solace herself by making a scrap-book of swimming pictures.
When the children were growing up she lived in a lake town, but — well, any
woman knows why she didn’t learn to swim there. But now nothing but death
or disaster could keep her from learning.

And she learned! . It took one year of constant effort to achieve that grace
and swiftness of which she had dreamed so long. But she learned, and in the
process she took off fifty pounds of excess weight and ten years of excess age
and twenty-five years of responsibilities. Who would have thought that the
realizing of a pet dream, a foolish dream, could have counted for so much!

US GIRLS!

0 NE man sai( l that after the war women would be glad to slip back into the
old ways of femininity. Another added that it was not fair either to men
or women that women should intrude themselves into work that was essentially
masculine. A third man, a Southerner, said that for him he preferred the good
old days when women were ladies and not sexless workers.

All this comment was brought out by the fact that a woman ambulance-driver
stopped het car in front of the restaurant window to change her tire. The fact
that she changed it very deftly escaped comment.

. Sl 1 nce ^ he da Z s of Eve me n have expended a great deal of time and thought
in the effort to keep women on what the men considered the feminine side of
the fence. Perhaps they have been essentially right in the attempt. But whether
they are or not, the fence has a very large hole in it, which daily becomes larger

Witness: An exclusive, erstwhile conservative Eastern finishing-school for
women advertises for its Summer session, besides what it calls cultural courses,
a business course, including secretarial, accounting and banking work, and a
technical course which gives the choice of learning one or several of the following:
Motor-driving and repair, practical electricity, airplane mechanics, motor-boat
navigation and draftsmanship.

Only Heaven can help the men, now.

A

A STRANGE BOOK

gOMEBODY said:

VACATION

Rest is not quitting this busy career;

Rest is but fitting of self to one’s sphere.

And on the mental side this is broadly true. Nothing is more exhausting than
a job one doesn’t like. And nothing is easier than to dislike one’s job, whatever
it may be or however free and voluntary was one’s choice of it. And to persuade
oneself, no matter how difficult one’s life, that God’s in His heaven, all’s right

with the world, is about as restful a state of mind as one can achieve in this restless
universe.

On the other hand, don’t let the idea in the couplet persuade you not to take
a \acation, if that is within a possibility. A man who has long been a successful
manufactuier says that he can get more work out of his employees in eleven
months than he can in twelve. Housewives and mothers, take notice.

THE PET DREAM

YV 7 E WARN you that this story is going to be hard to swallow, but we know
it to be true. Mary S. was fifty-two years old. She was getting a little
stout and short-winded. The three children were launched on the world in

FRIEND of ours has a little boy eight years old. She told what she called
a tunny story about him the other day:

Jackie said that there was a big fat book in a forgotten corner of the library
that he wanted to play with. I asked him what it was, and he said, ‘The Hollv
Bibble. What s it about, mother?’ ”

Some one chuckled and some one else said, “Poor little Jack 1 ”

“Why poor?” asked his mother quickly.

“Because he’s lost what can never be replaced,” replied the little school-teacher

I hose beautiful old Bible stories which a child first hears at his mother’s knees
become an inseparable part of his moral equipment. More than that, though
I ve taught English for many years, I’ve never learned of so sure and so good
a way of enriching a child’s vocabulary as by making the Bible a part of his
mental life between the years of four and eight. Nothing in our Anglo-Saxon
literature is so beautfiul and so virile. I wish a law could be passed compelling
every mother of whatever creed to read the King James version of the Bible
to her children for ten minutes every day. Little Jack has been deprived of
something he needs. I hat’s why I’m sorry for him.”

“Take my word for it,” said an elderly woman, “that when Jack grows up
to be as great a highbrow as his mother he’ll still need spiritual solace as much
as she does, though she doesn’t know it yet. No one is sufficiently intellectual
to be happy without God.”

And nobody spoke.

But there was not a woman in the room who was not thinking thoughts too
deep and wistful for expression.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Published monthly by THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY
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Copyright 1919 , by The Butterick Publishing Company, in the United
States and Great Britain. All rights reserved.

Entered as second-class mail matter July 12, 1879, at the Post-Office at
New York, under the Act of 1879. 1

VOLUME XCV AUGUST, 1919 NUMBER TWO

In this issue, by

SAMUEL MERfIN

Author of "Temperamental Henry,” "Anthony the Absolute,” etc.

His new novel, "Hills of Han”

Stories and articles by Major Maude Radford Warren, Mabel Potter Daggett
Mary Hastings Bradley, Honore Willsie, Alice Hegan Rice, etc. °

August Fashions, including a new and
wider silhouette

In the September DELINEATOR, by

VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ

Author of "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse”

A brilliant essay, "The Land of Bluff”

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tiser does not make it good, we will. G. W. Wilder
I resident oj The Butterick Publishing Company.

PAGE 2

TIIE DELINEA TOR FOR A UGUST , 1919

GOSSIP

CONDUCTED BY BURGES JOHNSON

THIS IS A PAGE OF IDLE GOSSIP
But—

|T IS bolter to talk about people than about
* inanimate things.

Gossip is nothing more nor less than an evi¬
dence of interest in one’s neighbors.

The man who does not care a flg to know
what his neighbor is about is a misanthrope;
his milk of human kindness has dried up.

In some cases the milk has curdled. With
such people, gossip is not true gossip; it is the
language of cats. Apologies are due if you are
fond of your cat.

Gossip that grows out of good-will hastens
the millennium.

You can laugh at a man and hate him; but
when you are laughing with him, oven dislike is
difficult.

if Bolsheviki and bourgeoisie could grin to¬
gether over the same jokes, there would be a
United States of Russia to-morrow.

MR. BUTLER IS AILING

■NTOW that Bacchus has been given the blue
envelope in the United States, something
ought to be done to clean up the school-books
used by our little ones. It is not enough to
eliminate songs in praise of brown October ale
and to revise IHp Van Winkle so that he carries a
keg of malted milk up the dry bed of the moun¬
tain torrent. These are mere trifles. Our
geographies must be revised. The map of
France should be changed to show the Grape-
juice district instead of the Champagne district.

1 have canceled my subscription to Punch and
shall not renew it until the name is changed to
Lemonade. Something must be done to protect
our children against the unholy suggestions of
these outlawed names.

Only to-day my innocent little daughter came
home and informed me that her teacher had told
her that Eli Whitney invented the cotton-gin.
It, is unbearable to think that our children
should be taught to look upon the inventor of
any kind of gin as a hero. I immediately
wrote the teacher to please, hereafter, teach my
cliild that Eli Whitney invented the cotton-
orangeade.

Ellis Parker Butler.

CLEMENCEAU’S AMERICAN
ROMANCE

OPIIERE was once a boarding-school for
-*■ girls — or perhaps it was a "female semi¬
nary’’ — which engaged a young Frenchman to
teach the French language, with horseback
riding thrown in. The school was situated in
Stamford, Connecticut, and the new teacher,
whose name was Clemenceau, was sojourning
in New York City, thirty or forty miles away.

There is still living a lady who was a teacher
in that school when the dashing young foreigner
joined the faculty in 1868. Miss Blitch remem¬
bers that there was no graduating class the year
Clemenceau was there. Miss Aiken’s school
was in the throes of moving to what was then
known as Gothic Hall, and speaking French
and riding a horse seemed to have been neglected
extras.

But every one recalls Ins romantic courtship
and elopement. From the first, Clemenceau was
attracted by one of his pupils, a Miss Plummer,
from Wisconsin. But Miss Aiken, a command¬
ing figure of nearly six feet, was something of a
“tiger” herself, and there was little opportunity
for flirtation or love-making during her regime.
Clemenceau at that time lived in lodgings in
New York in an old garret on Broadway.

In the Spring of 1869 the older schoolgirls
were taken to N ew York for a theater-party in
lieu of commencement exercises. Carefully
chaperoned, as-usual, they lunched at the Hotel

St. Denis — the bridal hotel of that time, by the
way. Coming out of the restaurant, the tale
goes, the Frenchman was in waiting, caught the
girl’s attention when the chaperon was looking
elsewhere, and they forthwith eloped and were
married. Three children were born to them, a
boy and two girls. Years afterward a divorce
was granted. Not long ago Mme. Clemenceau
is said to have returned to this country.

As the years went on, and Clemenceau became
more and more the Tiger of France, Stamford
people often took advantage of the very slight
acquaintance they had with him and made a call
upon him during their pilgrimages. He re¬
marked to one traveler, “You Americans come
to Europe in the even years, and build additions
to your houses in the odd ones.”

F. G. II.

A JOKE-WRITER TO A MISANTHROPE

You say that there is

Nothing left

To joke about,

The funny things

Have long ago

Been spoke about:
Weird Irishmen, Dutch Cheeses,

And the Fat Policeman wheezes—

All the subjects that

Hired humorists

Still croak about.

You think we should

Proceed to draw

A cloak about

All topics you’ve

Begun to fume

And smoke about:

Spooney Folk and Rubes and Chickens,

Once as funny as the dickens.

Are old enough

To make you feel

Heart-broke about.

You tell us to

Be sensibly—

Awoke about

This threadbare stuff

You scold us

Writer-folk about,
And we don’t (we must confess it)

Laugh so very much, unless it
Be at you who think

• There’s nothing left

To joke about!

T. R. L.

DUSKY DOUGHBOYS

1 T WAS the editor’s good fortune while on the
^ western front last Summer to see something
of the dusky doughboys of the Ninety-second
Division. They seemed to be a daring, fearless
lot, but they nursed one haunting dread: They
paled at their recollection of the sea-voyage to
France and anticipated with horror a return by
the same route. A group of them stood on a
street corner in Saint-Die talking in hushed
voices of this dreaded event.

“Ah’s a volunteeah,” said one of them.
“Ah ain’t no draf’ man. But ef yo’ wants me to
go home oveh that ocean yo’ gotta draf’ me.”

“Ah ain't goin’ home oveh no ocean,” said
another emphatically; “Ah's goin’ back by way
of New O’leans!”

'■‘OLONEL POLK, then a major in the
■" division, told this story of another dark-
rinned hero: “It was my duty to inspect
sntries. I would not ask for better soldiers
lan those negro boys of mine—but a Southern
[fleer knows how to make certain allowances;
>r instance, perfect discipline can not be ex-
ected of a negro sentry on a dark night with
oods on one side of his road and a graveyard on
le other. On one such night I went out to
ispect. I approached a sentry who patrolled a
rip of dark road just where it was crossed by a
astern of trenches. He was a fine physical
lecimen and topped me by several inches.

“ ‘What would you do, sentry,’ I asked, ‘if you

discovered a raiding-party of fifty Germans
coming down through these trenches?’

•• 'Fifty Germans?’ he said, his eyes bulging.
‘•'Yes, sentry, fifty Germans!’

Why, major, Ah’d spread de news through
France!’ ”

HOROSCOPE

July

THE lad who, this month, has his natal-day
feast

Will be Jaunty and Uppish, Light-Hearted as
Yeast

(You can see by the spelling my method is
truthful);

Wlfile the lass who is born on a day in July

(It’s hard to believe, but the letters don't lie),

Will be Jolly, Uxorious, Lovely, and Youthful.

August

The boy who is born on an August date

Will be Angular, Ugly, and surely be Great.

While a maid who is born August something-
or-other

Will be Active and Useful and Good to her
mother.

SOCIETY NOTE

A/IISS FIFI LA DUG, the chic and popular
nurse-maid, and Miss Theresa McGovern,
lady’s maid, are summering at Bar Harbor, their
favorite resort, accompanied by Mrs. Saltonstall
Endicott and children. They released their
former employers, the Bowdin-Joneses, who de¬
clined to go to Bar Harbor this year.

NEIGHBORS

(It must be due to more than mere coincidence
that several contributors have taken this
method of easing their minds about their
neighbors. Perhaps such a department as this
is a safety-valve.)

THE BOLSHEVIKI ARE WELCOME TO

My neighbor’s nine-year-old son, my neigh¬
bor's sixteen-year-old daughter, my neighbor s
dog, my neighbor’s cat, my neighbor’s man
servant, my neighbor’s maid servant, my
neighbor’s wife, and the frequent stranger
within my neighbor’s gates.

Suburbanite.

Sir:

Did you ever slither youthfully across a ball¬
room floor, with sweet sixteen hanging on your
arm, and come face to face with your neighbor
and his wife, who know you are forty-three years,
eleven months and twenty-nine days old?

Montclair.

My neighbor’s gone to the country!
Hooray, hooray!

He said ’twas best,

He must have rest,

And so he went away!

He took his children with him,

Hooray, hooray!

(Here the writer is choked with emotion, so
the meter changes.)

Our cat has ate his canary bird.

I’m not the one to send him word.

Hooray! Hooray!

D. S. W.

Dear Editor: Most of us laugh no longer at
jokes on the neighbor’s piano. It is right that
we should not, for it is a grizzled grandfather of
funny stories. The other day, while cutting
my initials in the woodwork of the British
Museum, I came across this venerable anecdote
in a musty chronicle. Can any of your con¬
tributors go farther and fare better?

“Once upon a time, 1001 b.c.,” writes the
chronicler, “a man was commuting between
Jerusalem and Jericho. At the corner of Sharon
Street and Salem Place he fell among thieves.
They took away his pocketbook, although he
pleaded thirty-one wives and ninety-three
children. They took away his watch. They
even took the clocking on his socks.

“‘Have you any other valuables concealed
about you?’ they asked the trembling wretch.

“Hardly had they spoken when they discovered
in his lower left vest-pocket a loaded revolver.

“ ‘My neighbor takes cornet lessons,’ groaned
the commuter.

“The thieves restored him his money and his
timepieces threefold and uncovered in the
presence of a great sorrow.”

n. s. w.

CAPITOL GOSSIP

I) EAR-ADMIRAL Samuel McGowan, Pay-
1 x master-General of the United States Navy,
famous for his original efficiency methods,
has an odd scheme for handling his personal
finances. Being a bachelor, and having
governmental assurance of a comfortable
salary for the rest of his life, McGowan feels no
incentive to save money. So, on the last day
before pay-day, he looks over his check-book,
and if there is any money left on deposit, he
writes out checks for the exact amount of his
balance. These checks he hands out, wherever
he thinks they are most needed. In other
Avoids, for a few hours every month, before he
receives his new pay-check, Admiral McGowan
hasn’t a penny to his name.

IN THE course of the Senate proceedings one
* morning Vice - President Marshall called
for a vote on an amendment that was of such a
routine nature that no senator had enough
interest in it to go to the bother of expressing
himself.

“All in favor, please vote aye,” said Marshall.

And nobody said aye.

“All opposed, please vote nay,” directed
Marshall.

And nobody said nay.

“Very well,” declared [Marshall quickly,
“the vote is a tie. The Vice-President votes
aye. The ayes have it.”

CENATOR HARRY NEW of Indiana was
° a cub reporter on the old Indianapolis
Journal in the late 70’s, when James Whitcomb
Riley came to that paper as staff poet.

“J ust to give you an idea of how Riley livened
up our offices,” relates Senator New, “one after¬
noon when I entered the editorial rooms, I
foimd Riley and Bob Burdette—who was a
frequent visitor—climbing over a heavy wire-
screen partition, pretending that they were
monkeys. They screeched and chattered and
jumped about until everybody on the floor was
nearly paralyzed with laughter; yet they did it
with complete solemnity and acted surprised
that anybody could see anything in their antics
to be amused over.”

CONGRESSMAN McKINLEY, a multi-
millionaire traction magnate of Illinois,
aims to be a good fellow. He has a horror of
being thought proud or haughty. The conse¬
quence is that every time a stranger looks Mc¬
Kinley in the eye, the congressman is apt to
stop and shake hands with him.

“I’m always afraid,” explained McKinley,
“that he might turn out to be a constituent.”

One night there was a reception given in
McKinley’s honor and he circulated about
among the guests trying to put every man
at his ease. He noticed one modest-appearing
little man whom he could not recall, although
the face was familiar, so familiar, in fact, that
it haunted him. McKinley and the stranger went
and sat on a lounge and talked, and still the
congressman could not recall who the fellow
was.

“Where is this man McKinley?” inquired the
stranger. “I was asked to make a speech hero
to-night, and I suppose I ought to make some
reference to him, but I don t even knotv him
by sight.”

“Well, the fact is,” McKinley was forced to
acknowledge, “I am McKinley. And you -
let’s see, I ought to know you—you are—

“I,” owned up the stranger, “am Vice-
President Marshall.”

Fred C. Kelly.

rmsm.

yftffoR

£•* Malt,, a Vo.ct

' ,,J v >ctor Talking Mat'.'.at

The thrill you get as the band goes by!

—Or hearing the greatest bands on the Victrola!

How often do you get the chance to hear the mighty brass
band of Sousa as it goes swinging past? Once or twice in a life¬
time, perhaps. But on the Victrola you can hear it any day—
with the same brave inspiration as if the big band was actually
marching by.

Not only Sousa’s Band, but Pryor’s also. And Conway’s and
Vessella’s and the United States Marine Band, the Black
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Garde Republicaine Band of France, Banda de Alabarderos of
Madrid—all the best band music of the world.

These famous organizations make Victor Records because their
leaders consider them the best records in the world.

Victors and Victrolas in great variety from $12 to $950.

There are Victor dealers everywhere and they will gladly play for you any band music you wish to hear.

Important Notice. Victor Records and Victor Machines are scientifically coordinated and synchronized in the
processes ot manufacture, and their use, one with the other, is absolutely essential to a perfect reproduction.

3

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New Victor Records demonstrated at all dealers on the 1st of each month

"Victrola” is the Registered Trademark of the Victor Talking Machine Company
designating the products of this Company only.

Victrola

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-.~ . mam

f.

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—<n«r>

■%

■

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I i v > r.

SOUSA
and his Band

3

PAGE 4 THE DELINEATOR LOR AUGUST, 1019

THE TREE OF JOY

“IN THE NAME OF LAFAYETTE’’

THE GIRL WITH THE TRENCH LOOK

BY MABEL POTTER DAGGETT

OUR RED-CROSS AMBULANCE STUCK IN THE MUD AND
SNOW. AMERICAN SOLDIERS DIGGING US OUT

A TYPICAL DESTROYED HOME IN LANDRES, THE KIND IN WHICH THESE WOMEN HAVE
TO FIND A CORNER FOR SHELTER AND HOUSEKEEPING

Editor's Note: In a Golden Book which the Commune of Lnndres and St.
Georges is preparing will he inscribed the name of every Delineator reader who
contributes to the restoration of this stricken town in northern France.

This section of the Department of the Ardennes is sacred ground for Americans.

Here many of our American boys fought and died. In the September Delineator
will be designated the various troops who fought here, and, so far as possible, the names
of those who died in this region.

Mrs. Daggett is in France , giving personal attention to the proper and wise use of
the gifts of our readers to the stricken Town of the Golden Book and to the larger area
served by the A merican Committee for Devastated France.

H ER strong young shoulders squared against the sky-line. Beyond their epau¬
lets, lofty cathedrals of commerce lifting the highest of all architecture above
the earth, limned the aspirations and achievement of a continent. Hung on
the horizon above her head, huge lettered signs advertising soaps and biscuits
and razors and the Butterick Publishing House stamped American enterprise
on the very heavens.

Like that her trim figure in its military uniform was marked against the Manhattan
shore. Then California and Kansas and New York, and at last New Jersey with all the
rest, were wrapped in the ocean’s mists. All the U. S. happy homeland had faded like a
mirage behind the curtains of the sea. The great liner was steaming on its way to Europe.
Now the girl, with the white seagulls circling all about, was standing there at the steamer’s
rail in striking silhouette outlined against the world.

Suddenly I saw her as no chance passenger who had casually tripped down the gangway
that morning of our sailing. I lers was a personality that had stepped right into the center of
the present stage of life and death, directly out of the great war.

All the tremendous forces of to-day, flashing like forked lightning out of the darkness
into which humanity was flung in 1914, were at this moment playing the spotlight on her.

Something of the stark scenes through which she had passed somehow inscrutably
emanated from her soldierly garments. The close-fitting cap on her head with its brass-
lettered insignia, the service stripes on her sleeve, the leather belt about the round waist
where a sash might have tied, all these are accouterments of our time to challenge more
than passing attention. Only yesterday a debutante at the threshold of the future, her
young feet idly marked time to the lilting measures of romance. Then, even as she listened
for the story every woman waits to hear, there came instead the crashing call of men

to arms. , , ,

In the awful blare of this martial music something more also occurred. Quite suddenly

she too went to walk the battle-fields of history.

I have met so many of her over here that I want you folks back home to know her, you
for whom I came as the special commissioner to France to plant the Tree of Joy. For she's
the landscape-gardener who’s going to help on that job. A great many of her enlisted at
the outset for the saving of civilization; are staying right on now. And new recruits come

ST. GEORGES, ONE MILE DISTANT FROM LANDRES, WITH WHICH IT FORMS

THE COMMUNE

across in every boat for the tremendous task ahead. It’s the reconstruction of the world
that’s to be done.

There’s been an awful smashing. Just how awful, no one who wasn’t there can ever
know. And no one who was, can ever tell—unless the boys who come back should talk in
their sleep, or you see it in their eyes.

It’s awful, the smashing. Over here I’ve “done the front.” Now it’s a finished front.
They have shown me through the ruins of that we called a Christian civilization. I have
stepped among the pieces of it!

L ET me tell you what was there: Huddled heaps that used to be homes; sometimes sway¬
ing walls and falling rafters; scraps of bright china that were somebody’s teacups and
plates; a rag of lace from the parlor curtain flapping on a broken blind; a piece of a wo¬
man’s dress caught on the rosebush past which she fled; on a pile of the chimney-brick a
baby’s worn shoe just as it was molded by some dear, tiny foot.

Oh, there were whole cities and villages where once was human happiness, now wrecked
like this. Religion went, too, with the rest. The holiest of churches are reduced to rub¬
bish. Sacred broken relics and bits of plaster saints I found among their fallen altars. I
have seen the trenches. 1 have been over the shell-holes. And I have walked past graves
and graves and graves where once the wheat-fields grew — there are dead bones that even
didn’t get buried. There’s everything terrible there, out there where the soil has been
soaked with the blood of millions of men.

Where was G od when this w ent on ? The waste places echoed round where I stood. But there

THIS IS THE MAYOR, WHO IS SHOWING ME HIS TOWN. WE ARE STANDING IN FRONT
OF THE WRECKED MAIRIE, OR TOWN HALL

was no answer. On the ground at my feet I picked up the belt-buckle some German soldier
once wore. I read thereon sarcastically enough inscribed, “Gott mit uns.” But lie wasn’t.

Not even though all the belt-buckles from all the Fatherland uniforms said so. Every
German prisoner of war in bondage, building roads for his captors at this moment, knew it
now, too. But also in the ruins through which I have passed, there remains here and there
a crucified Christ of tin still hanging on a wayside shrine. These Christs were at many of
the crossroads of France. And there were fleeing refugees who passed by and paused in
their terror to pray. Neither did they find God.

But I think we’re about to now. And it’s not going to be any of the old graven images
of Him.

This world against which my steamer girl was silhouetted is stirring with momentous
events. A Magna Charta in England, a Revolution in America, a Constituent Assembly in
France, each gave to one people some new measure of liberty.

To-day it’s the destinies of all mankind at stake. A Parliament of the Nations, a Federa¬
tion of the World, struggles for birth. A document drafted by diplomats in Paris will not
have done it.

They may have written it down. Freedom for the race was really forged in the fiery fur¬
nace of war, where in the white heat of a passion, comparable only to the great crucifixion,

Continued on page 3 0

CITIZENS OF LANDRES, WHO HAVE HEARD OUR CAR, COMING DOWN THE

STREET TO MEET US

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 5

*

LOVE LOCKED OUT

From the painting by ANNA LEA MERRITT

VORY SOAP is the safe, thorough cleanser
for baby’s bottles for the same reasons that
it is so satisfactory for washing his clothes
and his soft, pink skin — because it is as pure and
mild and efficient as soap can be.

For forty years mothers have depended on Ivory
Soap to keep his little young lordship and all his
possessions in that state of perfect, immaculate
cleanliness that makes for utmost comfort, health
and happiness. Ivory never has disappointed that
trust, as millions of mothers can testify.

IVORY SOAP.

99ft* PURE

6

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, /P/0 PAGE 7

BY SAMUEL MERWIN

THE STORY OF A YOUNG AMERICAN
GIRL IN CHINA, BY THE AUTHOR OF
“TEMPERAMENTAL HENRY,” “ANTHONY
THE ABSOLUTE,” ETC. HEART-WARMING
ROMANCE, STIRRIN.G ADVENTURE

O N A DAY in late March, 1907, Miss
Betty Doane sat in the quaintly airy
dining-room of the Hotel Miyaka, at
Kyoto, demurely sketching a man’s
profde on the back of a menu-card.

The man, her unconscious model,
lounged comfortably alone by one of
the swinging windows. He had finished his lunch¬
eon, pushed away his coffee-cup, lighted a cigaret,
and settled back to gaze out at the hillside where
young green grasses and gay shrubs and diminutive
trees bore pleasant evidence that the early Japanese
Springtime was at hand. Betty could even see, looking
out past the man, a row of cherry-trees, all afoam with
blossoms. They brought a thrill that was almost
poignant.

It was curious, at home — or, rather, back in the
States — there was no particular thrill in cherry-blossoms.
They were merely pleasing. But so much more was said
about them here in Japan.

The man’s head was long and well modeled, with a
rugged, long face, reflective eyes, somewhat bony nose, and
a wide mouth that was, on the whole, attractive. Both
upper lip and chin were clean-shaven. The eyebrows were
rather heavy, the hair was thick and straight, slanting
down across a broad forehead. She decided, as she
sketched it in with easy, sure strokes of a stubby pencil,
that he must have quite a time every morning brushing
that hair down into place.

He had appeared a few days back at the Grand Hotel,
Yokohama, coming in from somewhere north of Tokyo. At
the hotel he had walked and eaten alone, austerely. And,
not unnaturally, had been whispered about; for your
tourist hungers to talk. He was, Betty knew, a journalist
of some reputation.

The name was Jonathan Brachey. He wore an outing
suit, with knickerbockers; he was, in bearing as in costume,
severely conspicuous. He stood out. You thought of
him as a man of odd attainment. He had been in many
interesting corners of the world; had known danger and
privation. Two of his books were in the ship’s library.
One of these she had already taken out and secreted in her
cabin. It was called “To-morrow in India,” and
proved rather hard to read, with charts, diagrams and
pages of figures.

The sketch was about done; all but the nose. When you
studied that nose in detail it seemed a little too long and
strong, and — well, knobby — to be as attractive as it actu¬
ally was. There would be a trick in drawing it; a shadow or
two, a suggestive touch of the pencil — not so many real
knobs. In the ship’s dining-room she had his profile
across an aisle. There would be chances to study it.

Behind her, in the wide doorway, appeared a stout, short
woman of fifty or more, in an ample and wrinkled travel¬
ing-suit of black and a black straw hat ornamented only
with a bow of ribbon. Her face wore an anxious expres¬
sion that had settled, years back, into permanency. The
mouth drooped a little. And the brows were lifted and
the forehead grooved with wrinkles suggesting some long
habitual straining of the eyes that recent bifocal spectacles
were powerless to correct.

“Betty!” called the older woman guardedly. “Would

you mind, dear—one moment - ?”

Her quick, nervous eyes had caught something of the
situation. There was Betty and, within easy earshot, a
man. The child was unquestionably sketching him.
Betty’s eagerly alert young face fell at the sound. She

NOTE

The slight geographical confusion which will be found in
“Hills of Han” by the observant reader, is employed as a
reminder that the story, despite considerable elements of fact
in the background, is a work of the imagination, and deals
with no actual individuals of the time and place.

“Hills of linn ” copyriylite<l, Iff 19, by Samuel Merwin. SAMUEL IVT ERWIN.

stopped drawing; for a brief instant chewed the stubby
pencil; then quite meekly rose and came toward the
door.

“Mr. Ilasmer is outside; I thought you were with him,
Betty.”

“No— I didn’t know your plans. I was waiting
here.”

“Well, my dear, it’s all right, of course! But I
think we’ll go now. Mr. Hasmer thinks you ought to see
at least one of the temples. Something typical. And of
course you will want to visit the cloisonne and Satsuma
shops, and the Damascene work. The train leaves to
Kobe at four-fifteen. The ship sails at about eight, I be¬
lieve. We haven’t much time, you see.”

A chair scraped.

Both started a little.

Betty turned back toward her table.

Jonathan Brachey had picked up his hat, his pocket
camera and his unread copy of the Japan Times, and was
striding toward her, or toward the door. He would pass
directly by, of course, without as much as a mental recog¬
nition of her existence. For so he had done at Yokohama;
so he had done last evening and again this morning on the
ship.

But on this occasion, as he bore down on her, the eyes of
the distinguished young man rested for an instant on the
table, and for a brief moment he wavered in his stride. He
certainly saw the sketch. It lay where she had carelessly
tossed it, face up, near the edge of the table. And he cer¬
tainly recognized it for himself; for his strong facial muscles
moved a very little. It couldn’t have been called a smile;
but those muscles distinctly moved. Then as coolly as
before he strode on out of the room.

Betty’s cheeks turned crimson. A further fact doubt¬
less noted by this irritatingly, even arrogantly self-com¬
posed man.

Betty with desperate dignity put the sketch in her
wrist-bag, followed Mrs. Hasmer out of the building and
stepped into the rickshaw that awaited her.

The coolie tucked the robe about her, stepped in be¬
tween the shafts of the vehicle; a second coolie fell into
place behind, and they were off down the hill. Just ahead,
Mrs. Hasmer’s funny little hat bobbed with the inequal¬
ities of the road. Just behind, Dr. Hasmer, a calm, patient
man, who taught philosophy and history in a Christian
college a thousand miles or more up the Yangtze River
and who never could remember to have his silvery beard
trimmed, smiled kindly at her when she turned.

And behind him, indifferent to all the human world,
responsive in his frigid way only to the beauties of the
Japanese countryside and of the quaint, gray-brown,
truly ancient city extending up and down the valley by its
narrow, stone-walled stream, rode Mr. Jonathan Brachey.

The coolies, it would seem, had decided to act in con¬
cert. From shop to shop among the crowded little streets
went the four rickshaws. Any mere human being, so
ran Betty’s thoughts, would have accepted good-
humoredly the comradeship implied in this arrangement
on the part of a playful Fate; but Mr. Brachey was no
mere human being. Side by side stood the four of them,
in a toy workshop, looking down at toy-like artisans with
shaven and tufted heads, who wore quaint robes and
patiently beat out designs in gold and silver wire on
expertly fashioned bronze boxes and bowls. They listened
as one to the thickly liquid English of a smiling merchant

explaining the processes and expanding on the history
of fine handiwork in this esthetic land. Yet by no
sign did Mr. Brachey’s face indicate that he was
aware of their presence, excepting once, on a crooked
stairway in a cloisonne shop he flattened himself
against the wall to let them pass, muttering almost
fiercely, “I beg your pardon!”

The moment came, apparently, when he could
endure this enforced companionship no longer. He
spoke gruffly to his rickshaw coolies and rolled off
alone. When they finally reached the railway sta¬
tion, after a half-hour spent in wandering about the
spacious enclosure of the Temple of Nishi Otani, with its
huge, shadowy gate-house, its calm priests, its exquisite
rock garden under ancient mystical trees, the tall journalist
was pacing the platform, savagely smoking a pipe.

At Kobe they were united again, riding out to the ship's
anchorage in the same launch. But Mr. Brachey gave
no sign of recognition. He disappeared the moment of
arrival at the ship, reappearing only when the bugle an¬
nounced dinner, dressed, as he had been each evening at
the Grand Hotel and the previous evening on the ship,
rather stiffly, in dinner costume.

Then the ship moved out from her anchorage into that
long island-studded, green-bordered body of water known
as the Inland Sea of Japan. Early on the second morning
she would slip in between the close-pressing hills that
guard Nagasaki harbor. There another day ashore.
Then three days more across the Yellow Sea to Shanghai.
Thence, for the Hasmers and Betty, a five-day journey by
steamer up the muddy but majestic Yangtze Kiang to
Hankow, at which important if hardly charming city, they
would separate, the Hasmers to travel on by other, smaller
steamer to Ichang-fu, and thence on up through the
Gorges to their home among the yellow folk of Ssuchuan,
while Betty, from Hankow, must set out into an existence
that her highly colored young mind found it impossible to
face squarely. As yet, despite the long journey across the
American continent and the Pacific, she hadn’t begun so
much as to believe the facts. Though there they stood,
squarely enough, before her. It had been easier to sur¬
render her responsive, rather easily gratified emotions to a
day-by-day enjoyment of the journey itself. When the
constant, worried watchfulness of Mrs. Hasmer reached
the point of annoyance—not that Mrs. Hasmer wasn’t an
old dear, kindness itself, especially if your head ached or
you needed a little mothering!—why, then, with the
easy adaptability and quick enthusiasm of youth, she
simply busied herself sketching. The top layer of her
steamer trunk was nearly full now — sketches of the Amer¬
ican desert, of the mountains and San Francisco, of people
on the ship, of the sea, and of Honolulu.

But now, with Yokohama back among the yesterdays
and Kobe falling rapidly, steadily astern, Betty’s heart
was as rapidly and as steadily sinking. Only one more
stop, and then—China. In China loomed the facts.

That night, lying in her berth, Betty forgot the cherry-
blossoms of Kyoto and the irritating Mr. Brachey. Her
thoughts dwelt among the young friends, the boy-and-
girl “crowd” she had left behind, far off, at the other edge
of those United States that by a queerly unreal theory
were her homeland. And very softly she cried herself
to sleep.

IDE TTY DOANE was just nineteen. She was small,
quick to feel and think, dark rather than light (though
not an out-and-out brunette). She was distinctly pretty.
Her small head, with its fine and abundant hair, round face
with its ever ready smile, alert brown eyes and curiously
strong little chin expressed, as did her slim, quick little
body, a personality of considerable sprightly vigor and of a
charm that could act on certain other sorts of personalities,
particularly of the opposite sex, with positive, telling
effect.

Mrs. Hasmer, who had undertaken, with misgivings,
to bring her from suburban New Jersey to Hankow, found
her a heavy responsibility. It wasn’t that the child was

PAGE 8 THE DELINEATOR FOR AVGUST, 1919

0

THE SILENT, PALE BETTY CAUGHT NO GLIMPSE OF HIM

insubordinate or forward, or, in any way that you could
blame her for, difficult. On the contrary, she was a dear
little thing, kind, always amusing, eager to please. But
none the less there was something, a touch of vital quality,
perhaps of the rare gift of expressiveness, that gave her
at times a rather alarming aspect. Her clothes were
simple enough—Griggsby Doane, goodness knew, couldn’t
afford anything else—but in some way that Mrs. Hasmer
would never fully understand, the child always managed
to make them look better than they were. She had some¬
thing of the gift of smartness. She had, Mrs. Hasmer
once came out with, “too much imagination.” The inces¬
sant sketching, for instance. And she did it just a shade
too well. Then, too, evening after evening during the
three weeks on the Pacific she had danced. Which was,
from the only daughter of Griggsby Doane—well, con¬
fusing. And though Mrs. Hasmer, balked by the delicacy
of her position, had gone to lengths in concealing her disap¬
proval, she had been unable to feign surprise at the result¬
ing difficulties. Betty had certainly not been deliberate
in leading on any of the men on the ship; young men, by
the way, that you had no means of looking up, even so far
as the certainty that they were unmarried. But the young
mining engineer on his way to Korea had left quite heart¬
broken. From all outer indications he had proposed
marriage and met with a refusal. But not a word, not a
hint, not so much as a telltale look came from Betty.

Mrs. Hasmer sighed over it. She would have liked to
know. She came to the conclusion that Betty had been
left just a year or so too long in the States. They weren’t
serious over there in the matter of training girls for the
sober work of life. Prosperity, luxury, were telling on the
younger generations. No longer were they guarded from
dangerously free thinking. They read, heard, saw every¬
thing; apparently knew everything. They read openly
of a Sunday books which a generation earlier would not
have reached their eyes, even on a week-day. The church
seemed to have lost its hold, though she never spoke aloud
of this fact. Respect for tradition and authority had
crumbled away. They questioned, weighed everything,
these modern children. Mrs. Hasmer worried a good
deal out in China, about young people in the States.

But under these surface worries lurked, in the good wo¬
man’s mind, a deeper, realer worry. Betty was just step¬
ping over the line between girlhood and young womanhood.
She was growing more attractive daily. She was any¬
thing but fitted to step into the life that lay ahead.

Wherever she turned, even now—as witness the Pacific
ship—life took on fresh complications. Indeed, Mrs.
Hasmer, pondering the problem, came down on the rather
strong Avord—peril. A young girl, positive in attractive¬
ness, gifted, spirited, motherless (as it happened), trained
only to be happy in living, was in something near peril.

One fact which Mrs. Hasmer’s mind had been forced to
accept was, that most of the complications came from
sources or causes with which the girl herself had little,
consciously, to do. She was flatly the sort of person to
whom things happened. Even when her eager interest
in life and things and men (young and old) was not busy.

In the matter of the rather rude young man in knicker¬
bockers at Kyoto, Betty was to blame, of course. She had
set to work to sketch him. Evidently. The most you could
say for her on that point was that she would have set just
as intently at sketching an old man, or a woman, or a child,
or a corner of the room. Mrs. Hasmer had felt, while
on the train to Kobe, that she must speak of the matter.
After all, she had that deathly responsibility on her
shoulders. Betty’s only explanation, rather gravely
given, had been that she found his nose interesting.

The disturbing point was that something in the way of a
situation was sure to develop from the incident. Some¬
thing! Six weeks of Betty made that a reasonable as¬
sumption. And the first complication would arise in
some quite unforeseen way. Betty wouldn’t bring it
about. Indeed, she had quickly promised not to sketch
him any more.

This is the way it did arise. At eleven on the following
morning Mr. and Mrs. Hasmer and Betty were stretched
out side by side in their steamer chairs, sipping their
morning beef tea and looking out at the rugged north
shore of the Inland Sea. Beyond Betty were three vacant
chairs, then this Mr. Bracliey, his long person wrapped
in a gay plaid rug. He, too, was sipping beef tea and
enjoying the landscape; if so dry, so solitary a person could
be said to enjoy anything. A note-book lay across his
knees.

Mrs. Hasmer had thought, with a momentary flutter of
concern, of moving Betty to the other side of Dr. Hasmer.
But that had seemed foolish. Making too much of it.
Betty hadn’t placed the chairs; the deck steward had done
that. Besides, she hadn’t once looked at the man;
probably hadn’t thought of him; had been quite absorbed
in her sketching—bits of the hilly shore, an island mirrored
in glass, a becalmed junk.

A youngish man, hatless, with blond curls and a slightly
professional smile, came up from the after hatch and
advanced along the deck, eagerly searching the row of rug-
wrapped, recumbent figures in deck chairs. Before the
Hasmers he stopped with delighted greetings. It came
out that he was a Mr. Harting, a Y. M. C. A. worker in
Burma, traveling second-class. Betty thought he smiled
too much. He spoke with a sort of habitual eagerness.

“I hadn’t seen the passenger-list, Mrs. Hasmer, and
didn’t know you were aboard. But there’s a Chinese boy
sitting next to me at table. He has put in a year or so at
Tokyo University, and speaks a little English. He comes
from your city, Miss Doane. Or so he seems to think.
T’ainan-fu.”

Betty inclined her head.

”It was he who showed me the passenger-list. At one
time, he says, he lived in your father’s household.”

“What is his name?” asked Betty politely.

“Li Hsien—something or other.” Mr. Harting was
searching his pockets for a copy of the list.

“I knew Li Hsien very well,” said Betty. “We used to
play together.”

“So I gathered. May I bring him up here to see you?”

Betty would have replied at once in the affirmative, but

six weeks of companionship with Mrs. Hasmer had taught
her that such decisions were not expected of her. So now,
with a vague smile of acquiescence, she directed the inquiry
to the older woman.

“Certainly,” cried Mrs. Hasmer; “do bring him!”

As he moved away, Betty, before settling back in her
chair, glanced, once, very demurely to her left, where
Jonathan Braehey lay in what might have been described
from outer appearances, supercilious comfort.

There he lay, unaware of all merely human environ¬
ment, far above and beyond, content with the scenery
and—himself. He hadn’t so much as lifted an eyelid. He
wasn’t listening. He didn’t care. It was nothing to him
that Betty Doane was no idle, spoiled-girl tourist, nothing
that she could draw with a gifted pencil, nothing that she
knew Chinese students at Tokyo University, and herself
lived at T’ainan-fu! It wasn’t that Betty consciously
formulated any such thoughts. But the man had an
effect on her; made her uncomfortable; she wished he’d
move his chair around to the other side of the ship.

T I HSIEN proved to be quite a young man, all of twenty
■*-" or twenty-one. He had spectacles now, and gold in
his teeth. He wore the conventional blue robe, black
skull-cap with red button, and queue. More than four
years were yet to elapse before the great revolution of 1911,
with its wholesale queue-cutting and its rather frantic
adoption on the part of the better-to-do of Western
clothing, or, rather, of what they supposed was Western
clothing. He was tall, slim, smiling. He shook
hands with Betty, Western fashion, and bowed with courtly
dignity to Dr. and Mrs. Hasmer.

His manner had an odd effect on Betty. For six years
now she had lived in Orange. She had passed through the
seventh and eighth grades of the public school and followed
that with a complete course of four years in high school.
She had fallen naturally and whole-heartedly into the life
of a nice girl in an American suburb. She had gone to
parties, joined societies, mildly entangled herself with a
series of boy admirers. Despite moderate but frank
poverty, she had been popular. And in this healthy,
active young life she had very nearly forgotten the pro¬
foundly different nature of her earlier existence. But
now that earlier feeling for life was coming over her like a
wave. After all, her first thirteen years had been lived
out in a Chinese city. And they were the most impres¬
sionable years.

It was by no means a pleasant sensation. She had
never loved China; had simply endured it, knowing little
else. America she loved. It was of her blood, of her in¬
stinct. But now it was abruptly slipping out of her
grasp—school, home, the girls, the boys, long evenings of
chatter and song on a front porch, picnics on that ridge
known locally as “the mountain,” matinees in New York,
glorious sunset visions of high buildings from a ferry-boat, a
thrilling, ice-caked river in Wintertime, the misty beauties
of the Newark meadows—all this was curiously losing its
vividness in her mind, and drab old China was slipping
stealthily but swiftly into its place.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 9

She knit her brows. She was suddenly helpless, in a
poignantly disconcerting way. A word came—rootless!
That was it; she was rootless. For an instant she had to
fight back the tears that seldom came in the daytime.

But then she looked again at Li Hsien.

He was smiling. It came to her fantastically that he
too was rootless. And yet he smiled. She knew instant¬
ly that his feelings were quite as fine as hers. He was
sensitive, strung high. He had been that sort of boy.
And as for delicacy, refinement — the Chinese had been a
cultured, even a polished people when the whites were
crude barbarians. She knew .that! she couldn’t have
put it into words, but she knew it. And so she, too.
smiled. And when she spoke, asking him to sit in the
vacant chair next to her, she spoke without a thought in
Chinese, the middle Hansi dialect of her childhood.

And then Mr. Jonathan Brachey
looked up, turned squarely around
and stared at her for one brief
instant. After which he recollected
himself and turned abruptly back.

Mr. Harting dropped down on
the farther side of Dr. Hasmer,
which left his good wife between
the two couples, each now deep in
talk.

Mrs. Hasmer’s Chinese vocab¬
ulary was confined to a limited
number of personal and household
terms; and even these were in the
dialect of eastern Ssuchuan. Just
as a matter of taste, of almost
elementary taste, it seemed to
her that Betty should keep the
conversation, or most of it, in
English. She went so far as to
lean over the arm of her chair and
smile in a perturbed manner at
the oddly contrasting couple who
chatted so easily and pleasantly in
the heathen tongue. She almost
reached the point of speaking to
Betty, gently, of course. But the
girl clearly had no thought of pos¬
sible impropriety. She was laugh¬
ing now apparently at some gap
in her vocabulary, and the bland
young man with the spectacles
and pigtail was humorously sup¬
plying the proper word.

It was rather difficult. They
were like a pair of children about it.

Mrs. Hasmer decided not to
speak. She lay back in her chair.

The wrinkles in her forehead
deepened a little. On the other
side Mr. Harting was describing
enthusiastically a new and com¬
plicated table that was equipped
with every imaginable device for
the demonstrating of experiments
in physics to Burmese youth. It
could be packed, he insisted, for
transport from village to village,
in a crate no larger than the desk
itself.

And now again she caught the
musical intonation of the young
Chinaman. Betty, surprisingly
direct and practical in manner, if
unintelligible in speech, was ask¬
ing questions which Li Hsien
answered in turn, easily, almost
languidly, but with unfailing good
nature. Though there were a few
moments during which he spoke
rapidly and rather earnestly.

Mrs. Hasmer next became aware
of the odd effect the little scene
was plainly having on Jonathan
Brachey. He fidgeted in his chair,
got up and stood at the rail, paced
the deck, twice passing close to
the comfortably extended feet of
the Hasmer party and so osten¬
tatiously not looking at them as
to distract momentarily the atten¬
tion even of the deeply engrossed
Betty. Mr. Harting even looked
up. After all which the man,
looking curiously stern or irri¬
tated, or (Betty decided) some¬
thing unpleasant, sat again in his
chair.

Then a little later Mr. Harting
and Li Hsien took their leave and
returned to the second-class quar¬
ters astern. Mrs. Hasmer thought
for a moment that perhaps now
was the time to suggest that
English be made the common
tongue in the future. But Betty’s
eager countenance disarmed her.

She sighed. And sighed again, for the girl, stirred by
what she was saying, had unconsciously raised her voice.
And that tall man was listening.

“It’s queer how fast things are changing out here,” thus
Betty. “Li Hsien is — you’d never guess! — a socialist! I
asked him why he isn’t staying out the year at Tokyo
University, and he said he was called home to help the
province. Think of it — that boy! They’ve got into
some trouble over a foreign mining-syndicate - ”

“The Ho Shan Company,” explained Dr. Hasmer.

Betty nodded.

“They’ve been operating rather extensively in Honan
and southern Chihli,” the educator continued, “and I
heard last year that they’ve made a fresh agreement with
the Imperial Government, giving them practically a mo¬
nopoly of the coal ar.d iron mining up there in the Hansi
Hills.”

“Yes, Dr. Hasmer, and he says that there’s a good deal
of feeling in the province. They’ve had one or two mass-
meetings of the gentry and people. He thinks they’ll
send a protest to Peking. lie believes that the company
got the agreement through bribery.”

“Not at all unlikely, ’ remarked Dr. Hasmer mildly. “I
don’t know that any other way has yet been discovered of
obtaining commercial privileges from the Imperial Govern¬
ment. The Ho Shan Company is — let me see — as

I recall, it was organized by the Italian promoter, Count
Logatti. I believe he went to Germany, Belgium and
France for the capital.”

“Li has become an astonishing young man,” said Betty
more gravely. “He talks about revolutions and republics.
He doesn’t think the Manchus can last much longer. The
southern provinces are ready for the revolution now, he
says.”

“That,” remarked Dr. Hasmer, “is a little sweeping.”

“Li is very sweeping,” replied Betty. “And he’s going
back now to T’ainan-fu for some definite reason. I
couldn't make out what. I asked if he would be coming
in to see father, and he said probably not; that there
wouldn’t be any use in it. Then I asked him if he was still a
Christian, and I think he laughed at me. He wouldn’t say.”

The conversation was broken by the appearance of a

pleasant Englishman, an importer of silks, by the name of
Obie. He had been thrown with the Hasmers and Betty
in one of their sight-seeing jaunts about Tokyo. Mr.
Obie wore spats, and a scarf-pin and cuff-links of human
bone from Borneo set in circlets of beaded gold. His
light, usually amusing talk was liberally sprinkled with
crisp phrases in pidgin-English.

He spoke now of the beauties of the Inland Sea, and
resumed his stroll about the deck. After a few turns he
went into the smoking-room.

Jonathan Brachey, still with that irritably nervous
manner, watched him intently, finally got up and followed
him, passing the Hasmers and Betty with nose held high.

TT WAS early afternoon, when Mrs. Hasmer and Betty
were dozing in their chairs, that Mr. Obie, looking
slightly puzzled, came again to them. He held a card
between thumb and forefinger.

“Miss Doane,” he said, “this gentleman asks permission
to be presented.”

Mrs. Hasmer’s hand went out a little way to receive the
card, but Betty innocently took it.

“‘Mr. Jonathan Brachey,’” she read aloud. Then
added, with a pretty touch of color: “But how funny! He

was with us yesterday, and wouldn't talk. And now-”

“Shall I go catchee?” asked Mr. Obie.

To which little pleasantry Betty responded, looking
very bright and pretty, with, “Can do!”

“She gives out too much,” thought Mrs. Hasmer; de¬
ciding then and there that the meeting should be brief and
the conversation triangular.

Mr. Obie brought him, formally, from the smoking-room.
He bowed stiffly. Betty checked her natural impulse
toward a hearty hand-grip.

Mrs. Hasmer, feeling hurried, a thought breathless,
meant to offer him her husband’s chair, but all in the mo¬
ment Betty had him down beside her.

Then came stark silence. The man stared out at the
islands.

Betty, finding her portfolio on her lap, fingered it.
Then this—

“I must begin, Miss Doane, with an apology - ”

Betty’s responsive face blanched.
“What a dreadful man!” she
thought. His voice was rather
strong, dry, hard, with even a
slight rasp in it.

But he drove heavily on.

“This morning, while not wishing
to appear as an eavesdropper —
That is to say — The fact is, Miss
Doane, I am a journalist, and am
at present on my way to China to
make an investigation of the
political — one might even term
it the social — unrest that appears
to be cropping out rather exten¬
sively in the southern provinces
and even a little here and there
in the north.”

He was dreadful! Stilted, clumsy,
slow! He hunted painstakingly
for words, and at each long pause
Betty’s quick young nerves
tightened and tightened, mentally
groping with him until the hunted
word was run to earth.

He was pounding on;

“This morning I overheard you
talking with that young Chinaman.
It is evident that you speak the
language.”

“Oh, yes,” Betty found herself
saying, “I do.”

Not a word about the drawing.
“This young man, I gather,
is in sympathy with the revolu¬
tionary spirit.”

“He — he seems to be,” said
Betty.

“Now — Miss Doane — this

is of course an imposition- - ”

“Oh, no!” breathed Betty
weakly.

“ — it is, of course, an im¬
position — it would be a service

I could perhaps never repay - ”

- This pause lasted so long that
she heard herself murmuring, “No,
really, not at all!” and then felt
the color creeping to her face.

“ — but if I might ask you
'to — But let me put it in this
way — the young man is precisely
the type 1 have come out here to
study. You speak in the ver¬
nacular, and evidently understand
him almost as a native might. It
is not likely that I shall find in
China many such natural inter¬
preters as yourself. And of
course — if it is thinkable that
you would be so extremely kind

as to — Why, of course, I -”

Heavens!” thought Betty, in
“He’s going to offer to
I mustn’t be rude.”

The man plodded on. “Why,
of course, it would be a real
pleasure to mention your assis¬
tance in the preface of my book.”

It was partly luck, luck and
innate courtesy that she didn’t
laugh aloud. She broke, as it
was into words, saving herself and
the situation.

“You want me to act as in¬
terpreter? Of course Li knows
a little English.”

“Would he — er — know enough
English for serious conversation?”

“No,” mused Betty aloud, “I
don’t thing he would.”

“Of course, Miss Doane, I quite
realize that to take up your time

in this way - ”

There he stopped. He was
frowning now, and apparently
studying out the structural details
of a huge junk that lay only a few hundred yards
away, reflected minutely, exquisitely, curving hull and
deck cargo, timbered stern, square sails in the glass-like
water.

“I'll be glad to do what I can,” said Betty helplessly.
Then for the first time she became aware that Mrs.
Hasmer was stirring uncomfortably on her other hand;
and added quickly, as much out of nervousness as any¬
thing else, “We could arrange to have Li come up here
in the morning.”

“We shall be coaling at Nagasaki in the morning,” said
he abruptly, as if that settled that.

“Well, of course—this afternoon - ”

“My dear — ” began Mrs. Hasmer.

“This afternoon would be better.” Thus Mr. Brachey.

“Though I can not tell you what hesitation - ”

“I suppose we could find a quiet corner somewhere,”
said Betty. “In the social hall, perhaps.”

It was then, stirred to positive act, that Mrs. Hasmer
spoke out.

“I think you’d better stay out here with us, my dear.”
To which the hopelessly self-absorbed Mr. Brachey
replied:

“I really must have quiet for this work. We will sit
inside, if you don’t mind.”

Continued on page 59

4

PAGE 10 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

THE VERY BEST MAN

BY MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY

T ALL came of Malloch’s sitting in corners with Mrs.
Benning.

Mrs. Benning was short and plumpish and
bounced a little when she danced, so the corner was
innocent enough. It was Malloch’s alternative for
appearing on the floor with her — Rhode Island and
Texas, as he remarked to himself, for Malloch was big and
broad and buoyant in his style of locomotion to music.

So the corner. Besides, Mrs. Benning preferred talking
to more robust exercise.* She was a good talker with a
favorite theme and that theme was woman.

Not woman the abstract, but sister woman. With
high frequency, it was the woman surrounded by the
largest number of men, and the present momen t offered no
exception. Mrs. Benning was wondering aloud, in her
confidential little voice, just what they could see in her —
that red-headed one — over by the windows, flirting so with
Freddy Hall and Dicky Ransome. There, she was danc¬
ing with Dicky now.

Malloch followed her eyes — very pretty, round, inno¬
cent eyes they were—and his glance alighted upon a
gleam of peacock blue and silver shining out from an un¬
due proportion of surrounding black and khaki, and as he
watched, the gleam glided into the arms of one of the black
suits and began whirling nearer.

Stunning hair, that girl had! Copper with the sun on
it. Made the other women look as if their lights had been
turned off.

Aloud he murmured lazily, between drawing on his
cigaret: “Redheads always take. That new girl, isn’t it,
the one visiting the Greeleys? I heard something of
her.”

“Oh, one hears of her,” said Mrs. Benning enigmatically,
her eyes intent.

The brilliant vision was nearer. Malloch glimpsed a
slender back — the fixity of Mrs. Benning’s gaze communi¬
cated subtly its perception that it was a tolerably low-cut
back, even for that country club — and then, over Dicky’s
shoulder, a vivid, laughing face under the bright wave of
hair.

“Not at all bad,” he commented with following eyes.

“Oh, you, too!” Mrs. Benning smiled a smile that said
she gave him up. It revealed disarming dimples — dimples
that intimated why Benning, who was an intellectual sort,
had married her some ten years before.

“Perhaps she is a beauty,” she conceded. “I can’t see
it — but I’m prejudiced.”

It was so startling an admission—for any woman—that
Malloch stared.

“You don’t like her?”

Very faintly and pathetically and ironically Mrs.
Benning smiled again.

“She killed my cousin. He shot himself for her.”

Distinctly shaken, Malloch eyed her in open question;
then his gaze sped out to that disappearing gleam.

“They were engaged,” said Mrs. Benning’s quiet voice.
“It was his money—the boy inherited a fortune. He was
perfectly infatuated with her. Then on the eve of the
wedding his money was lost. A complete crash. And
she threw him over. He shot himself—he was awfully
young.”

Her voice caught.

“Ned was a dear, if he was rich,” she added, a little
tremulous in defense, “and it -would have been easy to have
cared a little for him—but, of course, there wasn’t a chance
of recovering the money.”

Very slowly Malloch turned it over. An ugly story—a
wretched thing to believe, with the curve of the girl’s pro¬
file before his face, the pure, high-spirited lines of her lips,
her throat.

He leaned toward Airs. Benning, his brows knit.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure?” Her lashes fluttered a little as her eyes fixed
themselves upon Malloch. “That he was my cousin? Or
that he shot himself?”

“I beg your pardon—I mean—that it was on her ac¬
count. That she threw him over. It’s such a rotten
thing-”

“I helped his mother destroy his letters,” said Airs.
Benning.

She added: “We had to read things. And there was
his last note.”

Malloch drew in his breath. The dozen words had
thrust him into the scene of tragedy. From out of his
comfortable niche in the ballroom, through the palms and
lights and pretty women, he was looking into a disheveled
room—a boy’s blood-stained papers littering a desk—and a
mother in black, with reddened eyelids, sorting—and Airs.
Benning fluttering about.

His eyes were narrowed as he looked out again into the
radiance of the light-flooded hall. Again he saw the in¬
credible conviction of the girl’s youth, her light-liearted-
ness.

“I only meant—you are sure this is the same girl?”

Mrs. Benning sighed very patiently. How men clung
to their prepossessions!

“You knew her — then?” he floundered.

“No, I never met her, Air. Alalloch. He became en¬
gaged to her when he was away, but I have seen her
picture — and I am very familiar with the circumstances.
There can hardly be two Amie Christys from Richmond.”

“But there might be some mistake—such things do
happen. I recall, in my class at college, there were two
Horace J. Calhouns,” said Malloch with a strange glib¬
ness; “yes, two—and both Jays; and at Smith the same
year there were two Katherine Troys—and not related in
the least. Astonishing what coincidence will do.”

He was clinging to the opposition rather tenaciously;
but it was too hideous a thing that that gleam of a girl,
circling so gaily there before him, should have flung over
her lover at the fall of his money and left him to a des¬
perate bullet.

Reassuringly he reminded himself of Mrs. Benning’s
voracious sentimental suspicions. Women always liked
to spin out morbid threads of Fate.

“I have met her here, but my name probably tells her
nothing,” Airs. Benning was saying. “It is three years
ago and she has forgotten any cousin Ned mentioned.

“It is just as well to make sure,” she added mildly.

HERE’S A STORY WHICH MADE A LIVELY
STIR AMONG US EDITORS. IT WILL EXCITE
OUR READERS—SOME OF THEM, PERHAPS,
TO SHARP CRITICISM. BUT THEY’LL READ
IT STRAIGHT THROUGH; IN FACT, THEY’LL
DEVOUR IT AND THEN INDULGE IN RE¬
FLECTION AND DISCUSSION. A VERY UN¬
USUAL STORY, THIS

Posed by Norma Talmadge Photo by Charlotte Fairchild

SHE LOOKED VERY THOROUGHLY AS IF SHE HAD
SEEN A GHOST

‘‘because — there’s your friend, Dicky Ransome-”

She let the implication float lightly to a pause. “Didn’t
I hear something of another well in his land to-day?” she
inquired brightly. “Another gusher, too? No wonder
he looks so radiant.”

“Radiant!” said Alalloch a trifle contemptuously. Then
he was silent. Radiant wasn’t really overdoing it. Dicky
was fairly incandescent to-night—incandescent and wrapt.
He was not talking to his partner now. They were danc¬
ing in silence, her white arm rather far up on his shoulder—
for Dicky was no taller than she and her face, turned in the
same direction as his own, subtly suggesting some cheek-
to-cheek caress.

A ridge of uneasiness piled itself between Alalloch’s gray
eyes. He loved Dicky Ransome as one man loves another
that has summered and wintered and shared good luck
and bad with him, unshaken by every test of failure and
success, and his love held the elder-brother solicitude of a
five-years’ seniority.

In his perturbation and in his desire to check an unwel¬
come rumor at its very source, he let a precious morsel of
news escape him.

“Oh, Dicky has a girl,” he said hastily. “Boy-and-
girl, way-back-East affair. Popular daughter of a prom¬
inent magnate, and that sort of thing—but Dicky can
afford her now. He’ll be trotting along East, now he’s out
of camp, and bring her back, one of these days. Don’t
you worry about his being vamped.”

“Is he really engaged?”

“Oh, not a bit of it,” insisted Malloch, impatient at his
asinine volubility. “I should call it a good chattel mort¬
gage, however.”

“How long since he has seen—this girl?”

“Oh—some time.” Alalloch was brought up short, re¬
membering how much time it was. “He’s been in camp
and all—and before that the oil— Of course I don’t
really know anything about his affairs,” he avowed.

The end of the dance had come. Stolidly the orchestra
refused the last persistent assault of the dancers’ applause.
Airs. Benning began to move out from their niche to the

more lighted seats beyond. She was careful of appearances
was Mrs. Benning—and her next dance was not taken. It
was as well to be seen.

As she rose she murmured sympathetically, “You'd
better send him East — soon.”

To his own surprise Alalloch caught her up sharply.
“This may not be the same girl.”

“Oh, yes — you want to make sure.”

She paused, deliberated. “I have to give a dinner to the
Greeleys since they are entertaining her. Some time next
week. Wednesday — yes, Wednesday, unless you hear
from me.” She added: “I’ll ask Mr. Ransome, of
course. But I’m glad there is another girl in the East.”

“Oh, the devil take me,” objured Alalloch in hearty
self-disgust.

He hoped the devil would take Airs. Benning, too — but
to another compartment. And yet Mrs. Benning had told
nothing but the simple truth. She had had a cousin and
he had been engaged to an Anne Christy and he had lost
his money and his Anne Christy and had put a bullet
through his head. Mrs. Benning wasn’t to blame for the
story. And she had a right to tell it, if she liked, and no
reasonable man could resent the information.

What he resented was her assumption that the traitorous
Anne and that bright-eyed, glowing-haired, light-footed
creature in Ransome’s clasp were the same.

He hoped the long arm of coincidence would confound
her.

But it was a forlorn hope.

A quaint thing, convention, he reflected quizzically,
pondering upon Mrs. Benning’s notions of entertainment
to the Greeleys and their guest who had been the death of
her cousin. He wondered if Mrs. Benning would spread
the story. He wondered if he would go to the dinner.

Of course he did. An awful curiosity impelled him.
And a protective jealousy for Ransome.

For there wasn’t any use now pretending that Ransome
wasn’t taken. Dicky was a changed man. The nine
days between the dance and the dinner demonstrated that.
He shed his past existence, his oil interest, his club, his
chums, his habits, as a grub its chrysalis, to soar into em¬
pyrean heights.

He alternated dreamy silence with bursts of song. He
kept a committee on organization waiting while he tried
on new riding-breeches. He left the San Miguel Develop¬
ment president biting his thumbs while he w r ore the afore¬
said new breeches upon a giddy black beside Aliss Christy’s
giddier roan. He held up his O. K. upon the report to
Washington while he indited a mysterious letter that
found its way into the mail-box at midnight — Malloch
poked his head out of his window to see Dicky deposit the
effusion with personal care.

He gave extensive orders to a florist — which Malloch
overheard. He took to sitting up until morning beside an
open window, an unlighted cigar in his mouth, his eyes
upon the moonlit Pacific.

In short, he behaved like an ingenuous and enthralled
sophomore.

When he wrecked two new ties, the night of the dinner,
before he could be enticed from the mirror, it got on Alal¬
loch’s nerves.

“You’ll do, you silly ass,” he admonished him.
“They’ve all seen you before—and they can stand the
sight again.”

Dicky had replied not — a bad omen—but smiled
mysteriously.

And Alalloch had to admit, with a complicated twinge,
that the youngster was looking well.

Airs. Benning had put Dicky next to the visiting beauty,
and from his point of observation across the way Malloch
saw enough to disquiet him. And he saw that Airs.
Benning was seeing and his various ill-assorted emotions
took the general trend of a reasonless animosity toward his
hostess. He sincerely hoped that she would be con¬
founded when she applied her test to the actual identity
of her guest.

Ironically he wondered how she was going about it. A
series of leading questions as to friends and relatives, he
crudely and hastily assumed.

He underestimated his Airs. Benning.

Some time later that evening—he never knew just when
or how — he found himself standing beside his hostess.
On the other side of her Miss Christy’s white gown glowed
with poppy reflections of the hearth-flame. They were in a
corner of the wide room gazing up at a painting—a lovely
haze of blurred sheep and dimming sky.

“I’m so fond of it,” Mrs. Benning was murmuring.
“It’s just an unknown bit—but it’s as soft as a Corot.
That’s why I keep it over here—where I have just the
things I love and use.”

She paused. Automatically, like well-maneuvered pup¬
pets, their eyes lowered from the picture to her desk be¬
neath it, and rested upon the intimate possessions there — -
an old medallion, a miniature of a rosy-cheeked young wo¬
man, and a larger, darkly framed photograph of a young
man.

“My mother,” Airs. Benning was murmuring of the
miniature. She waited before the other frame. From
its dark lines a frank-browed face looked out at them.

“Aly cousin,” she said in a lowered tone. “You’ve
heard me speak of him, Mr. Alalloch. And I think you
knew him, too. Miss Christy.”

She offered the picture, as if for confirmation, to the girl.

Anne Christy took it and bent above it a face from which
every vestige of color ebbed. Even her lips were deathly.

“Yes, I knew him,” Malloch heard her saying in a dry,
expressionless voice, and then she lifted her head and her
eyes met the eyes of her hostess with the lightning flicker of
crossed wires.

His own sense of shock gave Malloch an inkling of the
sick lurching beneath that still pallor beside him and for
the moment his sorry sympathy went out to her as the
under-dog.

“I thought you did,” Airs. Benning was saying very,
very gently, and she took back the photograph with the
air of one replacing a jewel from contamination.

She added: “It was a great tragedy. I never speak of
it,” and turned away.

Malloch reminded himself that she was behaving un-

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 11

THE TENSE VOICE SNAPPED. THE BRIGHT HEAD WENT DOWN UPON THE TABLE AND ITS VEIL AND ORANGE-BLOSSOMS QUIVERED AT HER WEEPING

commonly well. She had convinced him, and herself, of
the girl’s identity, in a confronting that was too dramatic,
perhaps; but undoubtedly she had the right to any bitter
crum of her enemy’s discomfiture.

And there was no doubt but that the enemy was dis¬
comfited. The color returned to Miss Christy’s face only
in strange streaks; and her expression, attempting as¬
surance, captured only a hostile and nervous defiance.
She looked very thoroughly as if she had seen a ghost.

Malloch ceased to be sorry. For she was not the under¬
dog — the poor ghost was that, an unhappy, dead dog,
buried under the earth these three years while her silver
slippers had gone on dancing and her white arms had
clasped other men’s arms.

Mrs. Benning had moved away, leaving them alone.
And the silence which bound them tingled with its terrible
implications.

The girl spoke, her voice insolently casual and light as a
tinkling cymbal:

“Are you always so chatty, Mr. Malloch? Or do you
charm only with your basilisk eye?”

He was aware that she was asking herself if he knew, and
divining unerringly that he did. A hot anger rose in him.
Her lightness was snapping its fingers at all that he knew,
all that he might think. Let him despise her if he would
lor not playing the game — there were other games in
which she would come off victor, she seemed to say.

Light and cold and scrupleless—so he knew her now.
All that bright youth was but a mask for the age-old, un¬
dying, callous greed. It didn’t matter so much that the
boy had killed himself. That was a tragic incident.
What mattered was that she had taken him without love,
and then without pity had cast him from her when the
money went.

On the eve of their wedding, Mrs. Benning had said.
Even in his surrender to the facts he made some allowance
for Mrs, Benning’s dramatic instinct, but it was not the
day or the week that mattered.

“Charming,” he heard himself mentioning evenly, “is not
my game. I leave that to my roommate.”

“Oh, Mr. Ransome!” She hesitated, flirted a white
feather fan, over which her hair glowed like dangerous
flame.

“Yes, he does some very nice charming,” she admitted
in that same studied light insolence.

And Malloch was conscious of the antagonizing cur¬
rents tingling between them. And he saw, too, that
the defiance mocking him from her eyes was a tense de¬
fiance, masking the covert tremor of fear.

She did well to be afraid of him, he thought grimly.
For if he counted for anything there would be one head
less in her hunter’s trophies, one scalp saved from her belt.
He would have it frankly and devastatingly out with
Dicky.

It would hurt. He saw that already it would hurt
horribly to wipe that beatific dream off Dicky’s face.
But he would pack him East; he would take him East him¬
self and invoke the glamour of the former siren. She

might be an alternatingly irresolute and irresponsible
young mischief, but at least she was no red-headed vam¬
pire that would suck the blood from Dicky’s warm and
honest heart.

Wait, Malloch secretly adjured the lady of the feather
fan, wait till he got Dicky home!

But first she got Dicky upon the veranda. Malloch
heard them saying something about the Pleiades and then
they were gone out of the French doors, and though Dicky
could teach her all he knew about the planets in five mo¬
ments, it was many moments past that before they were
in evidence again.

And then, masterfully, Dicky took her home. He, Mal¬
loch, was allotted to the lady’s place in the Greeleys’ car
and listened to the Greeleys’ praises of her as they swung
through the wide, pepper-and-rose-tree-lined avenues and
up the slopes to the country club.

He was awake and smoking when Dicky came in. And
then it was not he, but Dick, who did the telling. For
Ransome told him that he was the happiest of men.

It was a miracle from Heaven. He had known the first
moment he had seen her. And she, she had known, too.
Unworthy, insignificant as he was, he had captured her.
She had confessed it. She had promised to marry him —
and soon, for had they not been waiting for each other all
their lives? They were to be married here, from the
Greeleys’, for she had only an aunt in the East, to whom she
need not return. Then—Japan — heaven — infinity.

Dicky was full of it. Miles and miles of it. And Mal¬
loch listened, a queer pain in his heart, uttering the appro¬
priate grunts and murmurs that Dicky’s half-pauses needed
for assurance of sympathy, until the last star swung down
from a graying sky, and the chilly wind of before dawn
rustled the leaves of the eucalyptus-tree without the
window.

Then, as the men rose, Malloch dropped his hand heavily
upon the other’s shoulder, and took it away without speak-
It hurt, it hurt like the devil, to lose Dicky. And to
lose him like this—to a creature of the market-place.
He wondered how long before Dicky would really know
her. How long before she would blow all his candles of
faith out and leave him in the dark.

He went to bed and dreamed of a desk littered with
papers and Dicky’s head upon it — and a bullet-hole
through Dicky’s temple. He woke to the rollicking
chantey of Dicky’s morning song in the tub.

He told himself, as he stanched the second cut that his
nervous hand made in shaving his lantern-jawed chin,
that he was a gloomy, morbid old misanthrope. Very like¬
ly the girl cared for Dicky. How could she help it? And,
caring, she would never let Dicky rue.

Especially if the oil held out.

He devoted himself to the oil those next days and to the
business which Ransome as cheerily neglected. A man
is only married once, Dicky averred, in flagrant opposition
to much heralded fact, and so he devoted himself thor¬
oughly to the process, and to the minutiae of masculine
trousseaux and wedding-trips and engagement gifts.

Their rooms were covered with boxes of silk underwear
and steamer prospectuses and advertisements of real
estate and jewelry. And every day brought something a
little clearer and more definite out of the confusion, and the
wedding itself took actual shape and time.

In his March-Hatter madness Dicky was actually talking
of a date only three weeks off.

They had only themselves, he said, to please.

In that Malloch read the girl’s fear, as he had read it in
the swiftness of her surrender. She had forestalled any
revelation he might make and she was taking no chances
now. Life would not send her such second luck again.
And so the monstrous thing was actually going to happen.

Malloch began to attend dinners given for them. “The ro¬
mance” was a topic that filled the papers — and his ears.
He wondered uneasily sometimes if he could detect in the
amiable talk about him any substrata of information due
to Mrs. Benning’s circulations, but his uneasiness pre¬
vented his usual penetration from sure operation.

Very early in the engagement, within two days in fact,
he had bound Mrs. Benning to secrecy, and at least, he
reflected cynically after her most fervent assurances of
faith kept, he had reduced her whispers to a cautious and
minor key. The women would know and some men, but
they were not likely to let it reach Dicky.

And then, quite suddenly and overwhelmingly, it
occurred to him that it was Dicky’s right to know. Here
they were, all holding their hands and their tongues and
letting this monstrous thing tighten its coils!

It might make no difference in results as long as that
bright head was close to Ransome’s ears, but at least there
would be the sorry comfort that he had left no stone un¬
turned.

It was against the code, the man code, to inform, but it
was Dicky’s life against a few words. There was always
the thousandth chance that Dicky might react into clear¬
sightedness and angry resolve.

It was not an easy decision for Malloch to make nor an
easy thing to go through with after making the decision,
but he brought to it a resentment smarting from an evening
in which Miss Christy had reduced Dicky first to powder,
then to ashes, then to flames—a pyrotechnic display subtly
and insolently for his outraged benefit.

No girl who cared one-millionth part of an iota would put
her lover through such galling paces to taunt another man.

He recalled the lady in Kipling who kept one lover
smiling at dinner for the amusement of the other — not that
he was a lover of Miss Christy, but he played the same role
of initiated audience.

It had been a diabolic spectacle, chilling the slightest
hope he might cherish of the girl’s sincerity, and his indig¬
nation got the better of his judgment in the manner of his
revelation to Dicky.

I or when he found that she had been before him — with
an utterly different version, of course, denying the en¬
gagement and imputing the calumny to gossip—he stated
very succinctly that some lady lied—but it was all a
Continued on page 39

PAGE 12

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1910

“WHAT IS IT, ELINOR? YOU’VE GOT TO LET ME HELP YOU”

THISTLEDOWN

BY DOROTHY CULVER MILLS

UD HIS WIFE: “YOU HAVE NO
IDEA HOW FRAGILE A NICE
YOUNG COQUETTE CAN BE.
SHE CAN HAVE HALF THE
WILES OF CLEOPATRA AND BE
AS REALLY GUILELESS AND BREAKABLE
AS A CHINA DOLL—AND AS DANGEROUS
AS GUNPOWDER.” EVERYBODY KNEW THE
TRUTH OF THESE OBSERVATIONS, BUT
THE STORY HAPPENED JUST THE SAME.

CHE looked just as charming as she had intended to
v - ) look, which was very charming indeed, as she
lifted her yellow head to listen. The soft kiss of the lake
greeting the bank under her overhanging seat of birch
logs — the throaty call of a redwing—the hum of a dragon-
liy past her ear — yes, there it was again, the disconnected
whistling she had been waiting for, much nearer now.
She adjusted herself to a pose of unconcerned reading
that was betrayed by the excitement bright in her brown
eyes and pink cheeks.

The whistling came close and stopped abruptly. The
next moment a man stepped into the tiny thread of trod¬
den earth that led from the lake path to the birch seat,
appearing before her with a slightly exaggerated bow as,
without speech, he held out a small, fragrant handkerchief.

The smile in the gray eyes under his splendid lashes,
the gray lock distinguishing his black hair, disconcerted
her. Feeling just as young and foolish as she really was,
she took the handkerchief awkwardly.

He sat down with the clear intention of staying. “That
was very prettily staged, Miss Elinor,” he said with ap¬
preciation; “and very flattering to an old married man.
I suppose you are hard up, poor child!”

This — to talk it over—wasn’t according to any of the
rules she knew. She looked at him defiantly; then, meet¬
ing the friendly, mocking smile, she suddenly laughed.

If this was the grown-up way, it had rare possi¬
bilities.

“I’m bored to tears,” she told him. “Father wanted
me to spend a few weeks up here with Aunt Mary, she’s
been so poorly and so lonely since Martin went to South
America, and with Uncle Henry away unexpectedly. And
I wanted to come; but I found most of the cottages closed,
it’s so early. I miss Martin and his crowd horribly, and
the three days I’ve been here poor Aunt Mary’s been sick
in bed. Of course I’ve heard about you — and Mrs.
Withington and Junior,” she added hastily.

“We're rather prosaically tied up now,” he responded.
“Junior came down with the measles the day we arrived,
his mother is busy nursing him, and I’m slaving at a text¬
book I promised the publisher for August. Except for
my rising dip I haven’t had a swim yet. But that’s
partly because there’s been no one up here to go in wit li¬
my wife doesn’t care for the water and it’s not such good
sport alone.”

“I love it!” she cried.

“I know you do.”

“How?”

“I saw you in the lake this morning and was coming
over to-night to ask your aunt if you would let me have
the pleasure of your company. Mrs. Withington’s plea
is added to mine. She once saw a boy drown from cramps
when he was out too far for help, and I can see her bravely
hiding nerves every time I go in alone.”

“I can save you if you keep your head,” she said prac¬
tically.

“Your cousin Martin has told me a good deal about
you,” was his oblique reply. “I understand that’s your
specialty.”

“What?”

“Keeping your head — while other people lose theirs.”
The words came informally between pulls at a brier pipe.
He was looking at her with detached enjoyment and
speaking quite as if she were an equal in years and wisdom.
She found it exhilarating.

“Martin’s a goose,” she blushed. “And they’re all just
kids anyway.”

“Never any of ’em get unmanageable and turn on you?

As he put it, it sounded like a matter of technical in¬
terest broached between professionals, not a rankly im¬
pertinent question.

“One didn’t understand,” she was surprised to hear
herself answer readily without embarrassment. ‘ He was
one of these serious-minded boys that talk religion and
ideals and don’t bring candy — you know

He nodded.

“And then one awfully violent one,” she went on with
gathering interest. “He said awful things to me; he
wasn't any gentleman; he said he was going to kill him¬
self. But he only moved to Chicago. But really I never—

I mean I always -”

“You mean you’ve hitherto confined your attentions to
single, unattached, very young men.”

She gave a delighted little gurgle of assent.

“What makes you think I’m safe?” said he.

“I don’t— Oh, I don’t mean that — I mean I know
I’m safe —- I mean - ”

“Just what do you mean? Let’s try to figure it out,”
he suggested. “I am assuming, from the incident of the
handkerchief, that you are not classing me among those
shelved and dusty specimens that were once human but
that have since been stuffed by a taxidermist called
marriage.”

T his remarkable and intimate discussion was of a type
entirely new to her and thrilling. She gazed intently
across the water.

“Well, it’s never in the wide world occurred to me to
want to — You know, anything serious. It’s always
been just fun and they all knew it, all but those two.
They were the only ones that ever — so far, you know—
honest to goodness proposed to me meaning the real thing
(except Southerners, of course; I don’t count them); it
was an awful shock. And so — of course you’re different,
and a girl wouldn’t think of fooling with you the way she
would with a silly boy, and yet I’ve watched you and
you’re not so dreadfully married either — it’s sort of
between!”

“Thanks,” he laughed. “Let’s let it go at that.”

“CHE’S a rum kid. Sue,” he told his wife at dinner,

^ “but she has parts. She has a good nose and a
good brow, but at present her eyes and her rummy little
chin are having things all their own way.”

“I don’t suppose you’d better try the missionary act,
Carter,” she warned him pleasantly. “You’re a little
out of touch with the ingenue.”

He grinned at the small woman opposite who understood
him and much else with a wit and charity that lent charm
to her plain features.

“Still,” he pursued, “the wisdom of your born coquette
is ageless; she never grows too old nor has she ever been
too young. How’s that sound?”

“Leaky as most aphorisms, professor,” she retorted.
“Be careful. She has no mother.”

“All right,” he promised.

“And you have no idea,” she added, “how fragile a nice
young coquette can be. She can have half the wiles of
Cleopatra and be as really guileless and breakable as a
china doll — and as dangerous as gunpowder.”

“Humph,” he remarked skeptically. “Aphorisms your¬
self!”

A FTER he left her Elinor lingered in the birch seat
in excited communion with herself. She had done
it; she had deliberately flirted with a married man; and
she did not feel wicked, only queer and adventurous; she
also felt older. Of course • except for the handkerchief
business it had not been exactly flirtation; they had simply
had a remarkable talk, the kind of a talk you couldn’t
have with a silly kid who would be pestering you to hold
hands and who didn’t know anything anyway. He was
cosmopolitan; that was it.

The afternoons that followed were splendid, with long
swims and more interesting talks, many of them about
herself, while they sun-dried on a small crescent of beach
in the curve of a point some rods down the lake. Reached
from the cottage road only by a tangled path through the
thick woods that lined the shore, it was an astonishingly
secluded spot, visible only from the lake and the little
wharf from which they dived, and the lake water was
rarely stirred by human passage in even late June. July
saw the real opening of the cottage season.

“I wonder what will become of you,” he speculated
amiably one day.

“The idea upsets dad too,” she told him lightly. “/
should worry!”

“Of course you may marry in a year or two,” he went
on. “But then again you may not.”

He laughed at her when she turned on him in indignant
surprise. “What do you mean!”

“Ever yet met an inaccessible young man?”

“Huh?”

“Brutally — a young man you wanted to attract who
refused to fall for you.”

She considered. “Not exactly that. Of course I was
furious last Spring when Bradley Morris—I’ve had won¬
derful times with him—went off like a shot and married
a plain little dowd that nobody ever heard of. And here
he’s going to be a consul or something and she’ll have a
wonderful chance to travel!”

She did not see why he laughed so heartily, but she
rather enjoyed amusing him since she knew he liked her.
He was different from any man she had ever met, per¬
haps just because he was older. Of course he didn’t
make love to her even in fun (it would be wicked, so she
didn’t want him to), yet her hours with him were quite as
exciting as if he had. He never asked her to canoe, but
probably that wouldn’t have been proper. It wasn’t so
bad to idle along the shore alone anyhow, though her aunt
forbade her paddling out far and was nervous when she
went out after dark.

That was one of the things that made the evenings
desperate. The waxing moon in a succession of clear
skies kept calling to her, while, huddled under a stuffy
lamp that gathered millers and crisp snapping-bugs, she
dutifully read aloud to Aunt Mary.

Then after six such evenings came a seventh that was
different. When the cook’s sudden defection made im¬
perative a prompt call on a substitute two miles down the
road, it was Aunt Mary herself who asked Carter With¬
ington to go with Elinor.

The breath of the country was soft and sweet in the
moonlit night, and in Elinor’s pink-clad self were banked
the wayward witcheries of six such nights wasted on a book.
She could hot help wondering whether she could thrill him,
Continued on page 49

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 13

‘I DON’T REMEMBER HITTING HIM’*

THE SHADOW OF
ROSALIE BYRNES

BY GRACE SARTWELL MASON

THE STORY

“I have killed Vasco Lemar!”

Rosalie’s twin sister, a scapegrace show-girl, has added another
horrible complication to Rosalie’s romance. She has already im¬
personated Rosalie—by chance, in the beginning, it is true—with the
family of Rosalie’s soldier-husband, and they have bribed her,
thinking she is Rosalie, to disavow the marriage with Gerald
Cromwell. Gerald is in France, wounded. He thinks that Rosalie
has deserted him and has not written to her for weeks. When
Leontine gets into trouble, she comes, as usual, to Rosalie.

HROUGH the quiet of the room with its
shabby, old-fashioned furniture, that looked
as if it had known nothing but a peaceful
monotony, with its music-strewn piano, its
mellow light from the shaded lamp, the
words seemed to start vibrations of violence
and horror.

It seemed to Rosalie that that one short phrase, “I
have killed Vasco Lemar!” was an icy hand that seized
her heart and stilled its beating. She made no outcry;
she merely stood still in the middle of the floor staring
at her sister. But her face looked as if every drop of
blood had left it; her eyes were wide blue wells of horror.
For fully a moment she did not hear the incoherent words

that were tumbling out of Leontine’s drawn mouth,
for she was thinking that life as she had always known it
was ended for her; something new, full of shadowy terrors,
was beginning. Then, with a wrench that was like
physical pain, she forced herself to see the wretched girl
on the sofa, to listen to what she was saying.

The story of her absence of the past three weeks, and of
her calamitous adventure of that evening, did not come
out in orderly sequence, but in bits, in gasped sentences,
the latest happenings first, and then the explanations
stammered out between fits of the most terrible shivering,
as if the girl’s very soul were cold.

Rosalie finally was able to piece together the story of
her sister’s wanderings, from the afternoon she left her
apartment with a mind half crazed by the news of the
loss of all she had on the stock-market up to six o’clock
that evening, when she had returned to New York and
in the Pennsylvania Station had met Vasco Lemar. He
was on his way, he told her, to his country place on Long
Island, and he had invited her to go down there with him,
telling her he was giving a dinner to a number of persons
whom he named—friends of hers. When she protested
that she was not dressed for dining out, he assured her
the whole affair was impromptu and informal. The
others were motoring out, but his own car being in the
repair-shop, he was going out by train.

“I might have known he was lying,” Leontine cried,
“and maybe I did — but I didn't care. I’d had a horrible

time for three weeks — there were two days when Lil and
I didn’t have enough to eat - ”

“Who is Lil?” Rosalie asked.

“Girl I met the afternoon I left. Knew her that year
I was in vaudeville. She wanted me to work up a sister
act. She’d been at me for weeks, and the day I met her
I was feeling so down and out I agreed to go with her to
Philadelphia to see the fellow she knew down there who
was writing the sketch. I didn’t care what became of
me. I hoped every one would think I was dead. 1 thought
of starting in all over again.”

A choking sob and a fit of shivering, and then a long
silence while she sat with her hands hanging down between
her knees, her eyes fixed in a long, glazed stare. Suddenly
she covered her face with her hands, rocking herself back
and forth.

“I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t know what happened.
I don’t remember hitting him—but the next thing there
was the statuette in my hand — bronze — heavy—it had
blood on it, and his face — his face!”

She threw out her arms and slid down to the floor,
where she groveled, writhing, digging her fingers into the
carpet, a thing dehumanized from terror, her nerves
torturing her, wholly without the least shred of control.

Rosalie ran into the kitchen and poured something
from a flask into a glass. Coming back she knelt, lifted
the other girl firmly and held her head against her breast.
The face of Leontine no longer resembled her own; ravaged

PAGE 14 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

•>

and aged by emotion, even the pure, beautiful profile
appeared blurred and coarsened. As Rosalie forced her
to drink, a pang of pity melted the icy horror in her heart;
the protective instinct awakened in her.

“Tina, listen to me!” she cried, holding her sister quiet.
“You must not let yourself go. I must know everything
that happened out there to-night, or I can’t help you.
You went out to his place with Vasco Lemar — then what
happened? Who else was there?”

Somewhat steadied by the drink Rosalie had given her,
Leontine leaned back against the sofa and looked at her
sister with her haggard gaze. “There wasn’t any one
there! He had lied, of course.”

“But the servants — surely there must have been some,
somewhere about?”

“I tell you, the
house was empty. I
noticed as we came
up to it that the
place was dark, but
Lemar said he was
using only the rear
wing. We went in,
we were talking, and
Lemar was telling
me a funny story,
and we crossed the
big hall in the dark.

We went up the
stairs to the library,
and this room was
lighted . I know,
now, that he must
have switched on the
lights from the hall
below. 1 didn’t be¬
gin to suspect that
he’d lied to me until
I’d taken off my furs,
and then he came
up to me - ”

She began to
shiver. Rosalie could
feel her shaking as
if the repulsion of
that moment was re¬
turning to her.

“The beast!” Leon¬
tine cried, clenching
her hands. “I wasn’t
afraid of him. I didn’t
even begin to see
red until he showed
me the dope he took
and tried to make
me take some too.

Then I began to get
afraid — his eyes were
horrible. I tried to
get out the door, but
he got there first. I
screamed, and then
I knew the house
was empty. After
that I don’t remem¬
ber—there was a
little statue on the
mantel. I grabbed
it, and when he came
at me that time I hit
him with it.”

She shut her eyes
and shuddered. Then
she began to cry and
laugh at the same
time. Rosalie saw
that she was losing
control of herself
again. Taking her
by the shoulders she
shook her sharply.

“Tina! Look at
me! There’s some¬
thing you’ve got to
tell me. Who saw
you go into that
house with Lemar?”

“No one, I’ve told
you—no one!”

“But how did you
get from the station
to the house?”

‘‘We walked.

There weren’t any
taxis. Lemar wanted
to walk — it wasn’t
far-”

“Yes, yes! And who saw you come out?”

“No one saAV me. I kept in the shadow of the trees,
and then Avalked along the road beside the hedge until
1 came to the station.”

Rosalie’s mind was working quickly, desperately, in¬
stinctively reaching out for avenues of escape. “Then,
if no one saAV you go in or come out of the house—if there
Avere no servants on the place—isn’t there a possibility
you’ll not be connected with the-”

She could not say the word, and a shudder ran through
her. But she controlled herself and caught her sister’s
hand.

“Leontine, think! If no one knew you went out there
with him, if no one saw r you, there’s a chance - ”

The other girl suddenly threAV back her head and
laughed Avildly, until the old-fashioned rooms were full
of the clamor of it. “Chance! There isn’t a chance in the
world, I tell you! I left my furs and my bag—and there’s
a letter in it addressed to me!”

The room whirled around Rosalie. Rising from her
knees, she tottered to the windoAv, opened it and let the
cold night air blow across her face. It bleAV away the
terrible sick dizziness that had threatened to overcome
her, and spurred her brain. She turned tOAvard Leontine,
who now sat Avith her head buried in the sofa-cushions,
her Avhole body trembling.

“Tina! If you’ve left your bag there, you’ll have to go
back for it, quick, before it is discovered! You’ll have
to -”

But she did not finish the sentence, for her sister lifted
to her a face so distorted with fear, so ghastly in its wild
protest, that she knew without a word being spoken that

for her to do such a thing was utterly impossible. Her
Avild eyes Avould give her away to the first policeman
she met; indeed, Rosalie doubted Avhether Leontine was
equal to the mere physical exertion of the undertaking.
She was bordering on a complete nervous collapse that
Avas evident even to inexperienced eyes. Rosalie trembled
to think of what might happen if Leontine were sent into
the street in this condition.

Afterward—she never could remember just when—the
idea came to her to go herself. There was a lapse of time,
during which she must have walked about the rooms
in a strange state of semiconsciousness, hearing her sister
raving, sobbing, begging her to save her, and even as she
heard, listening to that other voice, which was the clear

“I can,” said Rosalie in a strange, quiet voice. “Try
now to tell me exactly which way you turned when you
reached the top of the stairs. You are certain there are
no servants in the house? And when you left the station
in which direction did you go?”

Ten minutes later she came out of her apartment and
walked out into the bleak and Avindy darkness, drawing
her furs high about a face that was as set and white as if
carved from marble.

But before she left the apartment she had taken from
its silver frame the photograph of her husband. She had
torn it twice across and laid it in the small, old-fashioned
fireplace. Then from a drawer in her desk she had taken
three letters. These, likewise, she placed in the fireplace.

Then she lighted a
match, put it to one
corner of a letter, and
watched with a stern,
white face as a tiny
flame licked in and
out among them.
Whatever was in
store for her, nothing
would ever be found
that could drag her
beloved into the ter¬
rible meshes of Avhat
she was noAV facing.

L: t : > '

i ,

:

f I V

fc: it *

-,| >
fevLLf. /

r.;f H

. . % *■

hi i 1

WIVES

BETTY LACEY

7.1 £

Our Betty Lacey is like lavender,

As fragrant and as fine, and like good bread,

As sweet and sound. We sometimes speak of her
As Madam Betty Lacey, with respect,

For she is still the belle of Appleton

Though fifty years have passed since she said “Yes”

To good Judge Lacey and put on orange-blossoms.

She loves the Judge, and how the Judge loves her!
They are the dearest old philanderers
That ever blessed a scoffing, cynical world.

He gives her flowers on May-Day, Valentines,

Easter eggs every Easter, and on Christmas
They hang their stockings for Santa Claus to fill
And catch each other under the mistletoe!

With such wise foolishness they keep love young . . .

One time I had a little spat with Tom.

1 was just married and learning to keep house
And not quite used to the dear untidy ways
All good men have. And I had scolded Tom
And he had gone off swearing, saying “Damn”. . .
While I was still a little flushed and angry
I heard the doorbell ring, and through the curtain
Saw Madam Betty Lacey come to see me.

I let her in as prettily as I could,

And then, somehow, I told her of our tiff
And asked her what to do, and, softly, whether
She thought things ever would be the same again!

“My dear, I’ll tell you a story, now,” she said,

Patting her flounces down mysteriously.

“When 1 was just about your age, the Judge
Was quite the most untidy man I knew—

He’d leave the morning papers everywhere —

And then his shoes . . . he’d come in on a night
When mud was thick as fudge upon the sidewalk,
And take them off in the parlor, by the grate,

And toast his toes until he got them warm

And leave those muddy shoes right there on the floor

For me to put away. I didn’t like it. **

“But I never did believe in nagging men,

And so I just kept quiet and thought and thought . . .
It’s just as well to think about a man,

Seeing that a man has to be taken care of . . .

And talking never helps; it never reaches

In through their ears, it seems. Well, one day Judge

Had left those big boots on the parlor floor

When Mrs. Aubrey Page came in to call

(And found them, and made my housekeeping a scandal

In all the neighborhood for weeks and weeks!)

Of course I knew that something must be done.

“After my caller left, I took those boots
And late that night I set them on the lawn
Near the French window of our dining-room.

Next day, my dear, while I was getting breakfast,

The Judge ransacked the house to find those boots.

He tumbled boxes down, moved furniture,

Crawled under the bed, looked everywhere, you knoAV,
Just like a man—in the ice-box, in the tool-chest.

He did not find them, and maybe he said, ‘Damn!’

Just like your Tom. Then he came down to break¬
fast

In stocking feet and asked me where they were.

“I poured his coffee, kissed him just as usual,

And said: ‘Why, dear, wherever did you put them?
They couldn’t walk away themselves, you know!’

Just then he looked out through the open window
And saw his shoes set out there on the lawn!

He looked at me. I never said a word.

He swallowed his coffee, and when he went to court
He smiled a funny smile all down the street.

And now the Judge is quite a tidy man,”

She said, patting her flounces daintily
And confidentially, in her pretty way,

Half like a ladybird with ruffled plumage.

Rising, she said, “Some day your Tom will be
As tidy as the Judge. Of that I’m sure!”

MARGUERITE WILKINSON

voice of her own consciousness, pointing out to her pitilessly
the consequences of her sister’s act. Disgrace, ruin for
both of them; for herself, endless remorse because she
had not been strong enough to guard her sister from her
own nature. Notoriety of the most repulsive variety.
And then, to come later, the anguish of soul over the moral
aspects of the deed.

She saw all these consequences attaching themselves
to her and to her sister, dragging after them a train of
other consequences, minor, but none the less terrible.
She saw first the results of her sister’s act in relation to
herself and her sister; but almost immediately on the heels
of this vision there came a realization of how this act was
to affect the man around whom all her life, her thoughts,
and her dreams had been centered during the past three
months. And this realization was the most poignant
of all.

In her pacing of the rooms, she saw, each time she
turned, the photograph of Gerald. It seemed to look
at her gravely and questioningly. All the anguish he had
caused her by his letter of three weeks before was forgotten ;
she was aware only of her love for him; and this love it
was, finally, that told her she could not bear it to have him
suffer for an act of her sister’s.

Crossing the room to her sister, she made the girl sit
quietly and listen to what she had to say. She told her
that she was going to the Lemar house to recover the bag
and furs, and Leontine must tell her quickly and clearly
exactly the location of the library and where she had left
the incriminating objects of evidence.

“You can’t do that!” Leontine gasped. “Go into that
room where he— he-”

TN A hotel on
A Broadway she
procured a time-table
and found to her
dismay that she had
just missed a train.
The next one to her
destination did not
leave for an hour.
She sat for a few
minutes in the
crowded corridor, not
thinking, but feeling
to the full the black
weight of this thing
that had descended
upon her. Then,
rousing herself, she
went out, and began
walking slowly down¬
town toward the
station. There
seemed to be but
one thought in the
universe: In that
house what would
she find? Could it
be possible that the
house was empty;
that there were no
servants? There
must be at least a
watchman or care¬
taker ; and if so,
where had he been
during the half-hour
Leontine and Lemar
were in that upper
room? And —where
was he now?

She bought a
ticket to a Long
Island station.
Shrinking back into
the corner of a seat
in the almost empty
coach, she watched
the dark landscape
flying past, and, re¬
flected in the window,
as in a shadowy mir¬
ror, her own face, pale
against her furs, with
eyes that were enor-
mous and set in
their gaze. When
the conductor took
up her ticket she
averted her head and
quivered inwardly. If
she escaped unob¬
served from that
horrible house she
was bound for, would
this man be one of
those strands in the
net that would even¬
tually enmesh her?
She should have bought a ticket to the next station, but
it was too late now-—perhaps it was imagination that told
her he took a long time over her ticket, peering at her under
his thick brows as he tucked the receipt into the back
of the seat ahead. If oxfly there had been more people
taking that train! But it was the dull hour between
theater trains. And when at last her station was reached
she was one of only four passengers who alighted.

There were a taxicab and a limousine waiting at the edge
of the platform. The driver of the cab called “Taxi,
miss?” as she approached, but she hastened past him,
turning away her face.

She went through the village, avoiding the main street
by turning to the left as soon as she had left the station,
as Leontine had told her to do. She was aware of lighted
windows among trees, of hedges, of white gate-posts,
of bars of light across the gravel walks, once of a house in
which some one was singing a familiar aria. Among these
familiar objects and sounds she threaded her way like a
shadow pursued, shrinking and startled. Indeed, she
felt herself a ghost, set apart from the lighted interiors,
from all homely, beloved things. She knew in this half-
mile walk all the sensations of the outcast and the hunted,
for already her sister’s deed seemed to her to be her own;
her dark shadow had merged with and become a part of
herself; it had closed in upon her and she carried it upon
her shoulders, heavy and fateful.

As soon as she had left the village and had come out
upon the main hignroad, she was on somewhat familiar
ground. For she had sung frequently at the country place
that bounded the Lemar grounds on the east. She recalled
Continued on page 5 0

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 15

THE GENTLE GUARDIAN

BY MAJOR MAUDE RADFORD WARREN, U. S. A.

DAVID LLOYD GEORGE
PRIME MINISTER OF GREAT BRITAIN

W HEN you think of the type of woman who
holds the position of confidential secretary
to a great American magnate, or politician,
isn't the picture you draw something like
this: A woman at least in the thirties,
good-looking, perhaps even beautiful,
exquisitely dressed in tailor-made fashion,
with a manner which suggests the drawing-room rather
than the office, indeed, but which has in it a touch of firm¬
ness? A woman, in short, who for all her charm of surface
makes you aware that beneath is a granite substructure of
business ability?

Some such picture as this I had drawn for myself of Miss
Frances Louise Stevenson, the confidential secretary of
the Hon. David Lloyd George, a woman who perhaps it
is not too much to say has more political power than any
woman in England. For it is through her hands that his
vast correspondence passes; it is to her that the people
wdio wish to see him must apply. She is the guardian who
stands in front of that great man of the hour, England’s
premier, protecting his time, his energy, confronting re¬
sponsibilities so heavy that to meet them triumphantly
takes the greatest grasp and keenness, steady courage —•
high character.

But she is not at all like the type I had conceived.
When I saw her coming toward me down a long white cor¬
ridor, I forgot that I was looking at a woman of tremendous
influence. For the moment I forgot her, and yielded to the
mood she produced in me. She made me think of beautiful
and delicate and subtle and softly shaded things — the
opalescent shimmer of waters; an amethyst twilight on a
moor; sweet-williams and heliotrope and mignonette in an
old-fashioned garden; a meadow-lark’s liquid notes; a
child’s fearless laughter; and that drawing by Michelangelo
that hangs on a lonely wall in Florence,
the face of a woman who looks afar, with
meditation and wistfulness.

Against the white-and-gray setting of
the hotel where she stayed in Paris, Miss
Stevenson looked like a lovely, faintly
gleaming pearl. It was a neutral setting
that did not belong to her. Number 10
Downing Street is her real background.

What the intimate setting is of that
inner office where move the springs of her
guardianship, I do not know. But the
approaches to that office are attractive.

I he caller not familiar with 10 Downing
Street is surprised when he arrives.

Here is a plain Georgian building, a plain
Georgian door, very inconspicuous and
unassuming, considering all they stand
for, all they have stood for, during dec¬
ades of inexpressive British political
history. The door opens almost at once to
the ring; no frowning bars, no forbidding
gorgon of a warden, appear; merely a tall,
courteous man in black. He is a cross
between a butler and a friendly uncle, is
this person, and he opens the door wide
and asks whom one wishes to see —
quite as if 10 Downing Street expected to
admit people. Behind him is a long,
narrow, red-carpeted room, the right-hand
wall broken by a grate that in Winter and
Spring burns with deep, roseate fire.

Indeed, the whole room shines— white
panels gleam, the carpet glows, and there
is no sense of stern officialdom, even at
the end of the room where is a little al¬
cove with a table and two or three chairs.

Here Miss Stevenson, or perhaps subsec¬
retaries, see the callers who have business
with the great man. This little alcove
is occasionally the anteroom to a brief
conference with the prime minister — if

Miss Stevenson is convinced. It is a warm, almost a
friendly, setting; it mingles the sense of business and of
humaneness too, and in that it is the right background
both for the premier and for his chief secretary.

To make a practical description, Miss Stevenson
seems about twenty-three years old, though she must be
a little more than that. She is perhaps five feet and
four inches in height, and slender. Her eyes, wide-set,
are of forget-me-not blue. She has not the typical
English high color; rather a faint, lovely pink under¬
lying the fine porcelain-like quality of her complexion.
Her hair, of a medium-brown shade, is dressed incon¬
spicuously.

Quite a modish person is Miss Stevenson, but she
chooses the modes that express her, and is so perfectly
clad that one forgets what she is wearing until after¬
ward. Her clothes are the carefully selected setting for
a rare jewel of personality, and, like artistic settings,
they do not advertise themselves to the casual observer.

be a person of rare mind. Despite her Latin heritage, she
had an English bringing up. Her early training differed
from that of any other British child of the privileged classes
oidy in the fact that she passed a good deal of time staying
with her relatives in France, and acquiring her perfect
knowledge of the French tongue and a French character.
Although she was a Londoner, she spent enough time in the
country to learn to love dogs and horses. She rode a good
deal, and for other sport played a good game of tennis,
and in her college days went in for boating.

Her secondary-school work was done in Clapham High
School. Later, she attended the Royal Holloway College,
where she specialized in the classics. When she speaks of
the classics, particularly of Homer, it is as if a torch were
lighted behind her face. The same glowing eagerness
shows when she speaks of her college and of its beautiful
setting on Englewood Green. Here, evidently, is a real
devotion to Alma Mater. All the fierce drama of the

The first time I saw her she wore
a gray street-suit, with touches of
blue, and a simple gray fur hat
that brought out the perfect lines
of her face. The second time we
met she wore a gray house-gown,
with a lavender-and-white silk
coat.

Miss Stevenson does not wish
to be interviewed. If she is written
about at ail she prefers the writing
to be in article form, and indeed
the question and moreover method
of a formal interview, that sitting-
for - our - photograph atmosphere,
would not be suitable to her at all.
Her personality is too subtle, too
delicate, too elusive perhaps, for
that.

Not that there is anything
wavering or indefinite about her.
One knows from talking to her that
far within is a steely core of convic¬
tion, of principle, of will-power. She
makes absolute and unfaltering judg¬
ments. She achieves promptly. But
all her forcible qualities are overlaid
by reserve, by indirection, by soft
charm. All her swinging achievements
are made without sign of force or
even of effort. To look at her face, to
hear her talk, the casual observer
would consider her distinctly a “fem¬
inine” woman; absolutely a drawing¬
room and hearthside person. Yet she
has attained to what few men have
aspired to.

A very modest person, then, this
charming girl, who does not wish to
be interviewed. It was not from her
I found out that last year she was
made C. B. E.—Commander of the
Order of the British Empire. It was
not from her I learned what full reli¬
ance Mr. Lloyd George places on her
judgment, her decisions; how much of
his affairs he leaves in her hands. But
she did tell me of her education, of
some of her likes and dislikes, and of
how she happened to become the sec¬
retary of David Lloyd George.

Like so many notable English
people in the war, she isn’t English
at all. Her father was Scotch, and
her mother was half French and half
Italian. It is not strange that with
three such strains of blood, she should

political life in which she has shared for seven years has not

Copyright, E. 0. Hoppe

MR. GEORGE’S “GENTLE GUARDIAN,” FRANCES LOUISE STEVENSON

Copy light, Underwood $ Underwood

THE LLOYD GEORGE FAMILY GROUP. LEFT TO RIGHT THE WOMEN ARE MRS. CAREY EVANS,

MRS. LLOYD GEORGE AND MISS LLOYD GEORGE

made tame the memories of her academ
days, when gentle romance and nc
vital drama was the world in which sb
walked. There is a tender dreamine;
in her eyes when she touches on hi
college days.

But how that tender dreaminess var
ishes when she talks of the work she di
just after she left college—teaching
She told me she hated teaching, an
though her intonations were calm, ther
was a certain edge in her voice tha
proved she meant what she said; that th
verb she chose was not at all too stron
for her feeling. She taught in a privat
boarding-school, and when I asked he
why she chose that rather than teachin
in a college, she replied that she though
it would be more congenial, that she di
not want to teach big classes.

As she spoke I was conscious of a cei
tain thankfulness that in the Unite
States so many fields of work are open t
women, and increasingly open. Twent
years ago, in our country, the only hoi:
orific employment for a girl was teaching
That she had to do, if she wanted
career or desired to earn her living; tha
and nothing else. England has lagge
behind us in offering wider opportunitie
for women, but a proof that she is fas
changing lies in the fact of Miss Steven
son’s own career. I did not ask Mis
Stevenson if she chose teaching because i
was the best sort of work a college-bre
woman was able to get. We fled tha
subject and talked too of her presen
position with Mr. Lloyd George. It
beginning led back to the days when sh
Continued on pa lie 36

PAGE 16

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

DARYA

BY DANA GATLIN

A STARRY NEW YORK AUGUST NIGHT,
THE STRANGE BEAUTY OF A ROOF-
GARDEN, A WONDERFUL DANCER, A
TEMPERAMENTAL COLLEGE INSTRUCT¬
OR—AND DRAMA IS INEVITABLE. HERE
IS HAPPINESS OR TRAGEDY — DRAMA
OF SOME SORT CERTAINLY

I REMEMBER how hot
and white everything
seemed — so different from
our star-shot Kansas
dark — that August night I
unwittingly snarled the
weave of Daisy Holmes’s fate.

New York is the great Mid¬
summer shrine, and I was
an inland editor making
pilgrimage. This story be¬
gins when Jeff Quigley, after
the way of city-dwelling
men, took me in hand to
“see the sights.”

You would not expect Jeff,
naturally, to frequent the
Great White Way, and he
didn’t. For he was a college
professor — and a pretty good
one, I judge—liking study
and speculation, and with a
good deal of the poet in him.

But it was not because he
was a professor — good or
bad — that my heart was
warm for Jeff Quigley. He
was dear to me, first of all, .
for being his father's son.

Second, I loved him for his
big, straight body and his
big, straight soul; for the
little humorous gleams in his
deep-set eyes; for the swift,
rare smile that lent his face
a peculiar eagerness.

That Midsummer night,

I remember, he hunted out
his dinner coat, which was
rumpled. Then we two went
forth to meet the hectic
glamour that hung over the
city. With the passive en¬
joyment which comes from a
detached vision we made the
rounds and reached, at
length, a famous Summer
roof, a palace garden and a
banquet — and Darya.

Ours was a balcony table,
and out through the lofty
windows stretched an un¬
believable ocean of night-
blue air, in the distances
beacon-lights set high, and,
far below, lines of twinkling
dots to mark the crisscross
streets.

A wonderful sight it was—
city of five million souls be¬
neath you and the wide sea of
air at your elbow. It should
drive men to think of nobler
things, to dream great dreams
—but they’re engaged with
their drinking and dancing.

And I, too, forgot that mas¬
terpiece of man and God.

T h e spectacle within — for
which man deserves lone
credit, I fear — captivated my
attention.

Oriental colors striped from
the soaring dome down the
great hall’s sides. Below, the
place was shimmering, frag¬
ile, costly colors, too; whits
shoulders everywhere and

black broadcloth—coquettish old women and young men
and complacent young women and old men, with shining
white tables fringing the room, and everywhere the
breath of gold and I-don’t-care.

Suddenly the exotic lights all glimmered dim. A
rustling scurry sounded from the floor, a white ray shot
out across the darkened boards, and the orchestra sounded
a peculiar, lilting fanfare.

In the circle of light Darya, the dancer, appeared.
She had a partner, of course, a sleek, assured male person,
but it was the girl who caught and held the eye. For a
moment she stood still, a slim figure posed, skirts all
shimmering, and with closely brushed, shining, dark head.
I thought of a picture I’d seen, a temple dancer of India.
Slowly she looked round at us all, her face dead white,
her eyes half-veiled, her red lips unsmiling; then, lifting
her long, slender arms, she met her partner on the crest
of a wave of melody.

Never have I seen such grace; her body seemed to
•weave into rhythm; you could see the movement ripple
through her arms. It was only a fantastic variation
of the ballroom waltz, borne on by a wild, sweet melody
of the violins, but to those lyric measures of sound and
sight, the audience’s pulse rose and fell as one.

A last audacious whirl, a last sustained posture, a swerv¬
ing of the spot-light, an onrush of pervading brilliance, and
the spell was broken. With the rest I clapped loud and
long. But Jeff, staring, made no move.

Suddenly he touched my arm.

“Look! The big table just behind you—she’s coming
here!” His eager voice sharply twisted my neck about.

At that moment there could have been but one “she”
in the room. Several other people were taking their
places at the reserved table, but they made but a setting
for that radiant, sparkling girl. She sat at the opposite
side, and only her head and shoulders were visible to me.

Lovely she was as a firefly, as the orchids before her,
in a strangely unreal, brilliant fashion. At this close
range I could see the sheen of her hair, the deep-pointed
“widow’s peak” on her white forehead, the thin, almost

“HOLD ON, DAISY. TELL ME SOMETHING ABOUT THIS.”

sunken cheeks, the very red stab of a mouth, and the long,
narrow, black-lashed eyes which were turned—strangely
enough—scrutinizingly upon myself.

Suddenly she smiled. A sweet, unaffected kind of
smile it was, and with an impulsive movement at variance
with the rest of her get-up she rose and swiftly rounded
their table to ours.

“It is Mr. Hicks, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, smiling that
Avarm greeting straight down upon me. “Don’t you
remember me—Daisy Holmes?”

Daisy Holmes—so that was the teasing likeness! Quickly,
as sometimes happens, the elusive original form in my
mental vision—a little-girl Daisy in gingham, thin, shy
and big-eyed, a deep, black peak cleft by the parting of
her hair, and huge crimson bows dangling over each ear.
Why ribbons of that shade I do not know.

I had seen Daisy often enough at early stages of develop¬
ment, before she left Paola. Perhaps it was because the
red bows, the gawky, gingham-dress age, presented such
antithesis to this dazzling young person who now smiled
assurance down at me.

“How is Mrs. Hicks—and the Beacon? How is every
one and everything at home?” she rippled on. “It will
be lovely to hear all about it! You—and your friend”—
with a vaguely inclusive nod, such as one gives a half-
noted presence—“must come right over to our table.”

“Hold on, Daisy,” I said to her. “Tell me something
about this. How did you turn yourself into a bird of

paradise? And all this glory and gaiety-”

She cut me off with a quick, knowing little smile. “I’ll
tell you all about it, Mr. Hicks,” she promised. “It’s just
like a novel—and I’m a heroine of romance! But I must
hurry back now, for the party’s in my honor. Oh, I have

lots of parties in my honor-”

“I don’t doubt that,” I said.

“Do come to this one,” she coaxed, and laughed.

Then she looked directly across at Jeff, who, beside
his chair, was standing at mute attention. I was looking
at her, and saw the subtle, half-conscious expression touch
her face which nearly always betrays a woman when first

she sees a man and finds him
attractive. Almost at once,
however, her well-trained
eyes came back to me—a
glance of expectant waiting.

“This is my friend, Profes¬
sor Jeff Quigley,” I re¬
sponded. “Miss Darya-?”

Entirely she disregarded
my interrogative inflection—
for I didn’t know how to
handle her new name—and,
with her eyes lighting up,
she engaged herself with
Jeff.

“Oh, not Professor Jeffer¬
son Mead Quigley?” she em¬
phasized. “Author of all
those delightful essays on the
old philosophers?”

Jeff’s expression, half-con¬
fused, wholly pleased, con¬
firmed his identity without
aid from his bow.

“Oh!” in a tone of sweet
astonishment. ‘ ‘And you look

so young , so-”

What a world of flattery
in an artful pause! Poor
Jeff! I saw that approval
of hers beam on him, and
then, as if in reflection, his
deep eyes glowing out; even
then I saw what was fated to
happen to him.

We went with her, and at
her table waiters fluttered
and chairs scraped to make
room for the two of us.
There were several people.
The men, in the confusing
fashion of New Yorkers,
were all cut from the same
sleek pattern. Johnny Sands
Avas the only one of them
I could keep distinct, and
that was because I’d re¬
printed a great deal of stuff
about so eminent a notable.
If I could have felt more
amazement than at finding
Daisy Holmes a professional,
feted dancer, it was at finding
myself supping Avith Johnny
Sands.

Besides Daisy there Avere
tAvo other women, and next
the elder and more dis¬
tinguished of these I Avas
wedged.

But the thing which occu¬
pied me most, of course, was
the shining apparition Avhich
Avas Daisy Holmes. She Avas
seated directly opposite me,
and sent frequent signals
Avith her smiling eyes. Ut¬
terly at sea, I tried to recall
the last I had heard about
her. I’d knoAvn she went
aAvay somewhere in the East
to college. My vague im¬
pression was that she pre¬
pared to be a school-teacher
and she was aAvay teaching
somewhere.

Of course I’d knoAvn she
had a talent for dancing—
the kind which Avoukl Avin her the Fairy Queen's solo
in the grade-school cantatas. Her father had died while
she was in college, and she never returned home. I
suppose there Avas a small property, but it Avould have
been small. And now all this splendor—in only four or
five years.

Very different, this, from the scenes back home—the
little public square, the tidy laAvns and homes, the school-
house up the hill Avhere she, perhaps, once planned to
teach, the strip of Avoods and the sweep of prairie
beyond.

The transition seemed impossible. I couldn’t figure
it out. Then the woman at my left began talking to me.
I didn’t suspect, then, that she Avas going to be the one to
read the puzzle to me.

I had gathered nothing about her beyond her name, so
I received yet one more surprise, in that evening of sur¬
prises, when she moved up closer to me, and in a A r oice
like little clinking bells said:

“Darya asked me to explain to you, Mr. Hicks, what
she likes to term her ‘romance.’ I’m her business manager,
you know.”

Not until I talked with Daisy later did I know just hoAV
’'sublimated a “business manager” Mrs. Atteridge Avas.
She was distinguished on tAvo continents for her acumen,
yet she had independent wealth and social position.
People could never decide whether she carried on her
Continued on page 54

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919 PAGE 17

THE DELINEATOR SUNSHINE HOUSE — NUMBER TWO

By M ary Fanton Roberts

FOR SEASHORE OR COUNTRY, THIS DAINTY DWELLING OF FIELD,
STONE AND CEMENT IS APPROPRIATE AND LIVABLE. FOR DE¬
TAILS OF THE HAND-PAINTED FURNITURE, THE WICKERWORK,
THE CHINTZES, ETC,, See the article on page 32 of this magazine.

PAGE 18 THE DELINEATOR TOR AUGUST , 1919

GRAIN

Of

WHEAT

SEND HERB.

THE WHEA7

THE

WHEAT

THE EACH

THE HEN

cur our

SEND HERE

CUT AROUND OVEN DOOR

And 8end oh line of hinges

SEND HERE

THE LITTLE RED HEN By Frederick Richardson

A fairy-tale game you can make yourself. The words are on page 53 of this issue of 1 HE DELINEATOR

THE DELfNEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 19

GREAT-GRANDFATHER’S CAR

BY HELEN WARD BANKS

Drawn by At. A. Ueujamiu

“GEE!” SHE EXCLAIMED IN HER BROTHER’S SLANG.
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT!”

HEY WANTED A CAR MOST
AWFULLY —THE GORDON
CHILDREN DID. AND NO¬
BODY EXPECTED THAT THE
FAMILY WOULD REALLY
HAVE ONE FOR YEARS AND YEARS.
THIS IS A STORY OF LUCK, BUT, AS
USUAL, IT WAS MIXED WITH BRAINS.

YOU WILL ENJOY IT

“T OOK out, Bet; your great-grandfather’s got an eye
^ on you,” Tad threatened.

Bettina threw a glance over her shoulder at the por¬
trait of the severe old gentleman hanging over the dining¬
room mantelpiece. “What did he ever do for me?”

“Nothing much perhaps,” teased Mr. Gordon, “but
his son was my father and I happen to be yours.”

“Oh, yes, daddy,” Bettina answered. “I know all
about ancestors, but what I mean is they’re no real good
to you. Great-Grandfather Gordon looks so cross that
I’m just glad he isn’t alive when 1 am.”

“He wasn’t cross when we were good,” protested Mr.
Gordon, “but his children never dared tease him for things
he didn’t think they ought to have.”

Bettina’s dimples danced out. “Then I’m glad he
wasn’t my father, for, oh, daddy-”

“And oh, my Bettinest,” interrupted daddy, “let us not go
back to that subject when you know how 1 love to please
you and how impossible it is for me to buy a car now.”

( ut it out, Bet, advised Tad. “Don’t you see you’re
fussing dad? If he can’t, he can’t, can he?”

“That sounds unanswerable, Bettina,” laughed Mrs.
Gordon. In the face of it 1 think we’ll have to be content
with old Black Bess a while longer.”

“But she’s so slow,” explained Bettina, “and she can’t
go any farther than the village and the train, and she ’most
misses daddy his train, and there are lots of places mother
wants to go and can’t, and Henry knows how to drive a
car, so I thought I’d just tell daddy about the Hogsons’.”

“Well, now you’ve told him,” said Tad, “and we’ll
talk about the weather.”

“Don’t,” begged Mr. Gordon. “It was hot yesterday,
and it’s going to be even hotter to-day. Let’s forget it.”

Bettina laughed. “We can’t talk about cars or the
weather; what shall we talk about?”

Great-grandfather,” suggested Tad as a second choice.
Xo, Bettina said. 1 don t like to talk about him;
he’s worse than the weather, he looks so cross. I’m glad
you’re not a bit like him, daddy.”

“I’m not so clever a man by far,” Mr. Gordon said,

1

putting down his napkin. “I think I do pretty well to
keep my small family going. Your great-grandfather
received a salary of six hundred dollars a year. He had
nine children of his own, and he was father to every one
in the parish besides for the forty years that he was min¬
ister here, and yet in spite of that he found time to make
a deep study of the history of the State and write a book
about it.”

“I never saw it,” said Tad. “What’s its name?”

“ ‘The History of My State.’ It’s with the books that
we haven’t unpacked yet. A dealer saw it this Spring
just before we moved here and offered me ten dollars for it.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Tad. “Some book!”

“There’s scarcely a copy to be found. This man said he
had searched the whole State and found only thirty,
though there must have been at least five hundred copies
printed. He would be glad to pay five dollars apiece for
all he could lay his hands on.”

“Did you sell yours?” asked Bettina eagerly.

Mr. Gordon rose with a laugh. “No, you frivolous
young money-maker, I didn’t. I have some respect for
my ancestors, especially those of them I knew. Why, if
we could afford to buy a car — which we can’t — I’d be
almost afraid that Thaddeus Gordon would come down
out of his frame to protest. He hated new things. There
were never any stoves in this house while he lived here —
only logs in the fireplaces; there were no lights but
candles, and he never set foot in a railroad train. He
really might object to a car.

“And in the mean time. Tad, as Henry is still away and
you’re coachman, I think you’ll have to hurry with that
last roll and get to harnessing. I’ll be ready in twenty
minutes.”

“I get you, sir,” Tad answered, disposing of the re¬
mainder of his roll at a mouthful. “1 think I’ll get Bess
shod this morning. I’ll go to the library while she’s at
the blacksmith’s.”

“Tad! Tad!

Industrious lad,

Dying to read
All the time he had,”

sang Bettina as daddy went out.

Tad threatened her with his napkin, but Bettina took
refuge behind her mother.

“Now, children, don’t start skylarking,” urged Mrs.
Gordon. “There isn’t time. I’ll go with you this morn¬
ing, Tad, for I can use the hour in the village for errands.”

“While Tad stands his hair on end and leans his elbows
on the table and reads,” cried Bettina. “You’re just like
your great-grandfather, Tad — always sticking jour nose
into a book.”

Mrs. Gordon laughed and kissed her. “Run on, Betty;
and. Tad, on your way out, stop in the kitchen and send
Sarah in here to me with the orders; she’s so deaf she
never hears the bell.”

Bettina danced over to the doorway. “I don’t know
why I never noticed before, Tad, that you're the living
image of Great-Grandfather Gordon.”

Tad glanced from the stern, rugged face of the portrait
to his sister’s dancing dimples. “All right, Miss Eliza¬
beth Gordon,” he retorted with a sudden dive at his
sister’s back hair, “I’ll show you how like him I am.”

With a delighted shriek Bettina dodged around the
table into the butler’s pantry, and on into the kitchen
with Tad at her heels.

“Mother wants you,” Tad shouted to deaf Sarah as he
tore through the kitchen.

Tad almost had her again at the stair-head, but she
eluded him once more, dashed through her mother’s room,
turned back into the hall and, laughing and gasping,
opened the attic door, stumbled up the stairs and sat
down hard on the top stop. She was at bay at last and
too weak to defend herself. She and Tad loved this sort of
a scrimmage.

But as Tad swung open the door at the foot of the stairs
his father’s voice called him to get on with his harnessing.
Tad hesitated.

“All right, Bet!” he called up to his sister above. “I’ve
got to go now, but you wait! I’ll harness Bess in a jiffy
and then I’ll show you whether I’m like Great-Grandfather
Thaddeus or not. You’ll see!”

Giggling, Bettina threw herself backward on the floor
and lay fiat until she regained her breath. It would l>e
at least ten minutes before Tad could return from the
barn and she would get well rested before she attempted
another chase.

But it was nearer fifteen minutes than ten when she
crept down the staircase and softly lifted the old-fashioned
latch. The door did not yield. Tad had locked her in.

Bettina called then, and when her voice brought no
one, she pounded, and when that accomplished nothing
she kicked. Still no answer.

“I wonder-if they’ve gone,” she breathed, and ran up the
stairs again to look out of the attic window. Yes, there they
were, out of the gate, jogging calmly along the road.

“Ta-a-d!” Bettina shouted and beat on the window-
panes, but no one heard her. She wrathfully struggled to
open the stiff little window, but before it yielded Black Bess
had carried her family around the curve and out of sight.

There was little breeze to be found, but Bettina’s tem¬
per cooled. She was sure on second thought that Tad
never would leave her on purpose to a long, hot morning
of imprisonment. In his hurry he had forgotten all about
Concluded on page 55

7

PACE 20

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

REPRISAL

BY ALICE HEGAN RICE

SENTRY WAS A BOCHE
MMM AND AN ENEMY and in her
power - AND how
ADRIENNE HATED THE
BOCHE! NO QUESTION OF WHAT SHE
WOULD DO? ALICE HEGAN RICE TELLS
ADRIENNE’S STORY WITH THE UNDER¬
STANDING OF WOMAN NATURE THAT
MADE “MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE
PATCH” SO POPULAR.

the market-place to the suppressed delight of those left
behind.

It was long since the tricolored cockades, so dear to the
hearts of the peasants, had been allowed, and even the ivy
leaf, symbolizing faithfulness, was sternly forbidden by the
police. But on almost every Belgian was cunningly dis¬
played a tiny ribbon of green, signifying that hope at least
was not dead.

Past the Guild House and skirting the old Cloth Hall the
little group went on its way, the dogs licking hungrily at
bits of refuse in the streets. And as it passed, greetings and
nods followed it, and an understanding smile passed from
lip to lip.

At Cathedral Square Mme. Carbonnez came to a halt and
took her stand in the long line of ragged women and children
who were waiting for their daily ration of soup and bread.

M me. carbonnez

stood in the funny
market-place read¬

ing the latest proc¬
lamation of the comman¬
dant. Her blond head and
broad shoulders rose above
the crowd just as her clear,
loud voice rose above the
indignant clamor about her.

“Be still there, you!” she
demanded imperiously of a
small, shrill person in black
who was pushing her way
to the front.

“But read. Read the
proclamation! What does it
say?” implored those on the
outskirts of the crowd.

“It says,” continued
Mme. Carbonnez scorn¬
fully, “that it is not enough
that we must have pass¬
ports to go from town to
town; we must not even go
on our own streets after
eight at night:

“From to-night all streets
and bridges and locks will be
occupied by a German guard,
who will take ten hostages in
each street whom they will
keep under observation.

Should any disturbance occur
hostages will be shot!”

A murmur of horrified
protest passed from lip to
lip.

It was after the fall of
Antwerp, during those fatal
days when Belgium was cut
off from the rest of the
Avorld by a wall of fire and
steel. Yet Belgium was
not vanquished. She was at
the stake, but she was smil¬
ing with the ecstasy of a
Christian martyr. Patriot¬
ism was her religion, and
Adrienne Carbonnez was
one of its most ardent
priestesses.

She it was who had kept
up the courage of the village
during those terrible months
of German occupation. She
it was who had most dar¬
ingly defied the military au¬
thorities,

She had secretly given
aid to the wives and chil¬
dren of men who refused to
work for the enemy, al¬
though in so doing she risked
a year’s imprisonment. She
had found innumerable
ways of circulating La Libre Belgique, and had the
audacity to smuggle a copy of the forbidden sheet
into the household of the august commandant himself.
Her knowledge of the German language, gained during
tw r o yeai’s of schooling in Cologne, where her father had
once been a prosperous basket-maker, enabled her to un¬
derstand what was going on about her, and she had become
expert in carrying on a glib conversation in her native
French while taking in every word of German spoken
around her. In fact, Mme. Carbonnez’s one diversion in
those almost unlivable days lay in the joy of harassing
and outwitting the stupid German officials.

“A sentinel at the bridge means a sentinel at your door,
Adrienne,” cried a woman behind her teasingly.

“So much the better. I will serve him coffee,” said
Adrienne, demurely smoothing the folds of her yellow dress.

The crowd broke into a laugh. It recalled the time
Adrienne had served coffee, by request, to an arrogant
Prussian officer who stopped at her farm, and had slipped
enough ipecac into his cup to put him out of commission
for the rest of the day.

But the merriment of the crowd was short-lived. A
German guard, seeing a number of people gathered to¬
gether, ordered them roughly to disperse, and smiles gave
way to scowls, and good humor to sullen resentment.

Mme. Carbonnez spoke to her dogs, which were hitched
to her small milk-wagon, and obediently moved on, but as
she went she adroitly slipped her arm through that of the
black-gowned woman beside her and caught by the hand
the little girl in red who was standing near. Thus, linked
together, the yellow, red and black of Belgium went out of

But as she came in sight of her own little house at the
foot of the bridge her eyes softened, and she began to hum
the “ Brabangonne,” secure in the knowledge that here, at
least, she was out of earshot of the hated Boche.

As she turned in at the gate three tow-headed little
girls, dragging a smaller boy, rushed to meet her. With
four pairs of arms about her, and a clamor of noisy greeting
that was augmented by the frantic barking of the dogs, she
made her triumphal entry into the house.

“Bread!” she repeated gaily in answer to the first ques¬
tion. “But no; we shall have something else to-day. A
little fish with big round eyes. See, Jean, he winks at you!”

All eyes peered into the basket on her arm.

“But it is so little!” protested the oldest girl, Marie.

“So is our Jean,” cried his mother, snatching him up and
kissing his soft neck; “but we love him none the less

for that. Come, we will
fry the fish in a big pan
and perhaps he will grow.”

After the scanty meal had
been disposed of and the
children put to bed, Adri¬
enne hastened to put things
to rights for the night while
there was yet the light of
day. For now that a Ger¬
man sentinel was to guard
the bridge at night there
would be no privacy for her.
The order had gone forth,
weeks before, that all win¬
dows overlooking the street
or road must be lit up, and
the shutters and blinds re¬
main undrawn. It was only
since the cold weather had
come that she had been al¬
lowed to close her front
door, and even now she
might not lock it.

But she was not afraid.
Fear had died in her on the
day they had deported her
husband to Germany. Big,
impulsive Jean, with the
strong arms and tender
eyes, who had been guilty
of the heinous offense of
shouting, “Vice la France!"
as a small convoy of French
soldiers was passing through
the town. Three years of
imprisonment for him, and
black despair for Adrienne.
But not fear! In their last
embrace he had said: “Be
brave, my girl! Our king
and our country need our
courage!” And from that
moment she had held her
head high and refused to
lower her colors in the face
of an all but victorious
foe.

But in the weary hours of
night she gave up the strug¬
gle against appearance, and
often stifled her sobs in the
pillows lest the children
should hear. On the brink
of starvation, persecuted by
spies, subjected to daily in¬
dignities, and unable to
hear any word from her
Jean, she was sore beset.
She was even denied the
comfort of her crucifix dur¬
ing those dark night hours.
The pillaging Germans had
taken it along with her
cherished brass kettles and
copper pots, to make cart¬
ridge-cases and shell - fuses
with which to fire on her
own people.

To-night as she sat by her window, with her hands
gripped beneath her shawl, remembering the indignities of
the past two years, she became dully conscious of a figure
passing and repassing her gate. She pressed her face
against the pane, and watched him moving with machine-
like regularity from the bridge to the corner of her garden.

As if glad of some tangible object on which to focus all
the pent-up hatred of her soul, she glared at the moving
sentry. He stood as a symbol of the oppression and perse¬
cution of the invading army. She longed to pick a quarrel
with him, to humiliate him, to inconvenience him in some
way. Here was a chance to pay back; if only she was
clever enough to think of a way that would not endanger
her! She must trick him into committing some blunder,
into violating some general order. It was forbidden the
sentries to talk to any one except in line of duty; perhaps
she could make him talk to her and trust to some passer¬
by reporting the indiscretion.

With Adrienne, to think was to act. Tightening her
shawl about her shoulders, she went out through the hall
into the garden. It was a cold night, with heavy clouds
rolling up from the west. The wind cut her face as she
crept forward and crouched behind the fence, waiting and
watching. The sentry was coming toward her from the
bridge, and she noticed the peculiar heaviness and uncer¬
tainty of his gait. Twice he stopped and steadied himself
by the fence; then he pulled himself together and came on.

“lie’s drunk!” whispered Adrienne to herself exultingly.
“He will fall of his own accord. I have only to wait and
watch the fun.”

Continued on page 44

LINKED TOGETHER, THE YELLOW, RED AND BLACK OF BELGIUM WENT OUT OF THE MARKET-PLACE

Three sides of the square were lined with soldiers, and
from the steps of a schoolhouse which had been taken over
by the military authorities, two German officers in immac¬
ulate uniforms were descending with clanking swords.
After a few words of colloquy with the Belgian Relief agent
they each took a loaf of bread from his basket and went back
up the steps, to return with even greater dignity and osten¬
tation than before.

“But what does it mean?” whispered the woman in
black, fearful of some new indignity to be suffered.

Mme. Carbonnez lifted her fine eyebrows and smiled.

“Hist!” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.
“You hear that clicking? They are making moving pic¬
tures, which will go into every town, showing kind-hearted
Prussian officers feeding the Belgian rabble! Bah! I
spit upon the bread their bloody hands have touched!”

And though she knew quite well there was no bread at
home for the children’s supper, she called sharply to her
dogs and strode disdainfully out of the square. Hate had
long since become an obsession with her. The sight of the
German soldiers lolling insolently about the porches Qf the
gabled houses that once were the homes of her friends
roused her to fury. The memory of to-day’s proclamation
and the results she all too clearly foresaw sent the blood
boiling through her veins.

On and on she trudged, through the town and out on the
old bridge road, blind to the beauty of the day, to the
sharp silhouettes of the pollard willows against the cold
blue of the wintry sky. She could see nothing but burned
farmhouses and starved cattle wandering aimlessly in
search of food.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 21

Charlotte Fairchild

WHICH BEAUTIFIES THE OTHER THE MORE—PEARLS OR AS DAINTY IN EVENING WEAR AS IN DANCING-COS-

ARM? WEARER IS LADY ROSALIND CHETWYND TUME— MRS. IRENE CASTLE TREMAN

CLARA KIMBALL YOUNG IS PROUD OF HER
PEARLS!

THE GLAMOUR OF ANN MURDOCK IS ENHANCED BY
HER SUPERB LAVALIERE

A NECKLACE THAT DOTH BECOME A QUEEN —THE
GREATEST LADY OF ROUMANIA

BEHOLD THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, WRAPPED
FOR CANADA’S CLIME!

VAN ITY’S

SYMBOL

BY FRED C. KELLY

HE prices which are paid for pearls at pres¬
ent are astounding. Of course, there are
all kinds of pearls, from the most crude up
to those of the rarest quality. For the
best grade, even a single pearl of fair size
may bring a sum of money that, if invested
in Liberty Bonds, would enable a family
to live in comparative luxury on the income.

I saw not long ago a pearl exactly half an inch in diame¬
ter, owned by a dealer in New York, for which he had re¬
fused one hundred thousand dollars in cash. Think of put¬
ting this sum into a single pearl no larger than a good-sized
pea, and with no use or purpose beyond proclaiming one’s
vanity!

Besides this one pearl, for which he can get one hundred
thousand dollars just lor the asking, the same dealer had
six other smaller ones, perfectly matched in size and col¬
or. He would have no difficulty at all in disposing of
these seven for between two hundred and seventy-five
and three hundred thousand dollars. A necklace with
those seven pearls featured in front, and the others fairly
good, would have a commercial value of more than a mil¬
lion dollars! Yet if you were to immerse the necklace in a
dish ol vinegar at night, the next morning your million
dollars’ worth of property would have dissolved and you
would have nothing left but the clasp and the silk thread.
For a pearl is mostly carbonate of lime.

There are owned in the United States at the present
time not less than a dozen pearl necklaces worth a million
dollars each. Or, at any rate, they would each bring that

sum if placed on the market. Nearly every one of these is
finer and more costly than the best to be found in Europe.
Not even among the crown jewels of Europe can one find
pearls to equal those now owned in the United States.

The wives of three American brothers, famous raw-
product multi-millionaires, each nourished a secret griev¬
ance and felt that the world was nothing but a mass of
gelid gloom, all for the reason that it was a grave question
which of the three wives had the most costly necklace.
One of the wives persuaded her husband to buy her a string
of pearls clearly surpassing all others owned by the family,
and now she is comparatively reconciled to life once again.

A wealthy widow owned a piece of business property in
the New York retail section, worth more than one million
dollars. She sold it, not long ago, taking in exchange a
pearl necklace — just that and nothing more. The prop¬
erty had yielded a vast annual income. Not only does she
receive no income from the necklace, but the insurance
against its loss, by theft or otherwise, is one per cent, of its
value a year, or about ten thousand dollars. Add to this
sixty thousand dollars, the interest on a million dollars at
six per cent., making a total of seventy thousand dollars.
If she wears the necklace, say, twenty times a year,
the cost for each wearing is about thirty-five hundred
dollars.

Most of the value of a pearl is psychological. Eliminate
the human vanity and pearls would not bring three dollars
a bushel. But, you protest, they have wondrous beauty.
Ah, yes; but their beauty is the excuse to buy them rather
than the reason. If they were just as beautiful, but so

plentiful that they could be had for the asking, it is doubt¬
ful if any woman of great wealth would wear them. Con¬
sequently they would not be fashionable, and their beauty
would be overlooked. Those who profess to love pearls,
and pay fabulous prices for them simply because of their
matchless beauty, do not admire them quietly at home or
in the safety-deposit vaults, but magnanimously wear
them to the opera, where they may be seen and admired by
others. A woman is willing to pay one million dollars for a
string of pearls because she gets one million dollars’ worth
of satisfaction out of the envy she can stir in the breasts of
other women.

TT IS only about twenty-five years since Americans of
wealth, traveling abroad, began to note that pearls
rather than diamonds were considered the more desirable
article of personal adornment by those who wished to
dress expensively as well as fashionably. Pearls had been
the favorite symbol of wealth and station among European
women of refined tastes in dress for perhaps a century
before they were taken up by Americans.

To-day, so great is the craze for pearls that the annual
supply provided by the lowly oyster meets only a small
lraction of the demand. Three or four big importers in
New York alone sell more pearls each year than the whole
world produces. You see, in earlier times divers brought
up pearls in a rather casual manner. When they saw oys¬
ters that they thought might contain pearls of goodly size,
they brought them up. The smaller oysters were not dis-

Continued on page 34

PAGE 22

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

IN PAWN TO A THRONE

BY DEMETRA VAKA and KENNETH BROWN

T HE next time Elihu saw Artemis it was at a re¬
ception at the house of a Greek family. At the
Mavromichalises’ entrance the two doors were
thrown open, English fashion, by two liveried
servants, w hile another one — Athenian fashion—
dusted Elihu’s shoes with a small feather-duster.
Their spacious marble halls are the most noticeable fea¬
ture of Athenian houses, and that of the Mavromichal¬
ises was unusually attractive. It was filled, when Elihu
arrived, with a buzzing crowd of people.

Suddenly a wave of silence swept over all the gaily
dressed crowd, and they fell back to right and to left,
leaving the center of the room empty. Two of the brothers
of the king and his eldest son came in slowly. The men
bowed low, the women courtesied to their Royal Highnesses.
Graciously the latter went about the room and shook
hands with every one. They had hardly finished w hen the
footman announced:

“Kyria Artemis Bysas.”

Elihu was very little surprised — it seemed a fitting
climax to royalty itself that there should enter now the
girl whom he always thought of as his Pallas Athena.

Elihu stood smilingly w atching her as she shook hands
with her hostess, watched her while the princes came up
and kissed her proffered hand. It all seemed so eminently
suitable — just as it inevitably must be — that he was not
even impatient to be formally introduced to her. What
could they say to each other, here in this crowded
drawing-room — they who had talked together
beneath the stars of the Acropolis?

It was Mme. Mavromiehalis who at length
introduced Elihu to the young girl: “This is
the new secretary of the American Legation, Mr.

Elihu Peabody, and a friend of our party, we
hope. Mile. Artemis Bysas.”

The ghost of her whimsical smile hovered over
Artemis’s lips as she bowed formally to Elihu.

Before they had time to speak, an old former
prime minister bustled up and swept her atten¬
tion away from the tall American.

Elihu was left alone with his hostess. In a
confidential under-whisper she explained : “She
is our future queen. She would have been
married to the diadoque already but for these
sad and unsettled days.”

M me. Mavromiehalis noticed nothing un¬
usual in the bearing of her American friend. He
stood very still for a minute, and let her talk on
without comment; but then he often stood still,
and was never a great talker, according to the
Greek standards.

And yet the world — his beautiful world — had
been rent asunder. He had been dealt a blow
which momentarily stunned him, which crushed
his life as with a black mace. One who knew
him well might have discerned haggard lines in
his face w hich had never been there before.

The minutes—or the hours — that Elihu spent
at the tea after this became to him an indistinct
jumble, in which only one person was clear.

The Crown Prince, destined husband of his Pallas
Athena, stood out from the hazy mass of other
people as if a spotlight were playing on him. A
medium-sized young man, he was about Elihu’s
own age, with average-colored hair, and eyes of
an ordinary brown. He was not bad looking;
rather of the “college-boy” type, such as our
institutions turn out by the thousands every
June.

This commonplace young Dane, with a Ger¬
man mother, was the man who was to marry his
Pallas Athena. Was he worthy of her? Could
it be possible she cared for him?

Undoubtedly he was a likable fellow — and he
could make her queen of her people. Well might
her manner be regal! How could it be otherwise?

The haziness of the room at last had gone for Elihu,
and out of the corners of his eyes he watched the Greeks
coming up one after the other to talk with the girl whom
they already treated as almost their queen, and unmis¬
takably was their favorite. Soon after this the princes took
their departure. It was not etiquette for any one else to
go away before them, but as soon as they were gone Elihu
went, too, fearing lest he might have to speak to Artemis.
He made straight for the bare back of Mount Hymetos.

T HE half-lights went, and darkness came before Elihu
found himself again in Athens. He did not know
when he had turned back. Probably he had covered a
huge circle in his wanderings. Now he found himself at
the foot of Philopapas Hill, where the royalists had am¬
bushed their cannon against the Allies on the first of
December. He thought dully that he had never climbed
it, and turned and made for the summit. At the top he
came upon Artemis Bysas, seated on a stone, her elbow on
her knee, and her chin in her palm. Spiro Millioti, her
body-guard, was stretched at her feet like a great St.
Bernard dog. He sprang up and saluted. The girl simply
nodded, without speaking, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world to see Elihu there.

“What brings you up here, Mr. Peabody?” she asked
casually.

“I — I don’t know. I was walking. I had never been
up here before. ”

An unreasoning anger against Spiro seized him. Now
that they were here together, they must be alone. He
fabricated an excuse:

“Can one see the Acropolis from Philopapas in this light?
But we can’t tell from here. Won’t you come with me
over to the other side, please?”

Artemis rose and went with him. She halted beside a
tall up-jutting rock.

“You left the Mavromichalises’ very early this afternoon.”
“I should have gone away earlier if etiquette had per¬
mitted me to do so before royalty.”

“Did you not enjoy yourself?”

THE STORY

lie was an American attache at the embassy in Athens. She
was a beautiful Greek girl of noble family, a family so old and prom¬
inent that a marriage between the girl and the crown prince has
been arranged. Artemis Bysas is willing to marry him, to make
the ruling family more Greek than German. But she meets Eliliu
Peabody surprisingly often, romantically, on the Acropolis at night.

Impetuously he turned to her. “This afternoon for the
first time I found out who you were—and what you were
to be. I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that when
I should find this out, I should suffer. P’rom the minute I
met you, you became the one woman in the world for me;
and now—!” He turned bitterly away from her.

Artemis stood quite still, her eyes upon the Acropolis,
which arose dimly above the city, like a dream creation.
Words seemed suddenly denied her to justify herself.

Imperiously Elihu demanded of her, “Do you love him,
or is it the desire to be a queen?”

The startled look of the girl recalled him to himself.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I have no right to ask
you such a question—I, who until a few hours ago did not
even know your name. Only don’t you see that the
thought of you has possessed me ever since the first minute
I met you. till you have become part of my blood and
brain? Tell me: do you love him?”

“Mr. Peabody, this marriage is for the sake of my people.
I must make it.”

“You are not marrying to please your people, are you?”

“Yes, of course. My people are anxious to have a
Greek woman for their queen. I have been chosen.”

“But haven’t you any feelings in the matter?”

“The thought of myself must not occupy me. My
family has always served the Greek race. My turn has
come.”

“I suppose being a queen has no weight in your de¬
cision?”

She stared at him, and he felt his own face flush with
shame. Almost like a child he said:

“I am suffering, and I am trying to hurt you. I feel
cut to pieces, and bleeding, and aching. To you every¬
thing is swallowed up in the welfare of your people, and
you can't know that love is fire—fire which consumes and
tortures you.”

He paused, and then in the translucent darkness she
saw him throw back his head and square his shoulders.

“But I am not going to let you go. I have had you so
much my own that I w r ould rather die than give you up.

She made no reply to this, and changing his tone once
more he implored:

“Must you marry him?”

“Mr. Peabody, you have obligations. There are tra¬
ditions in your family that must be upheld. We indi¬
viduals do not count when it comes to traditions.”

“In our new world we believe in personal freedom. The
traditions in my family have been that our banking busi¬
ness should go on from father to son. I didn’t want to go
into the banking business, and I didn’t.”

“Perhaps your other brothers can do it. In my family
there is no one else. I am the last of the Bysases.”

“I have no brothers.”

“And your father, does he not care? Does he not de¬
mand that you should do it?”

“He cares, of course, but he does not demand it. We
don’t believe in that in the New World.”

“If you violate the traditions of the past, how can you

prepare for the future? You will become a traditionless
race, and live only for the present.”

“We are free agents,” he answered doggedly. “Our
lives are our own.”

Artemis leaned against the rock and looked down, speak¬
ing more to herself than to him.

“Perhaps that is your strength — I don’t know. When¬
ever I have met your compatriots they have struck me as
possessing some imperial qualities. It may be because
each one of you owns his own life. It is not the same with
us. We are hostages, held in the grip of the past.”

“But don’t you long to live your own life, too, and be

happy?”

“There is no happiness, Mr. Peabody, except in one’s
duty, faithfully and honorably discharged.”

Leaning against the rock with a drooping wistfulness
which belied her Spartan words, Artemis reminded Elihu of
Andromeda chained to a rock and abandoned to a de¬
vouring monster. The jaws of the American’s mouth set
taut. Well, there had been Perseus, and the monster
had been balked of his prey.

“If I'm not as good a man as Perseus,” he muttered,
“I don’t deserve her.”

“What did you say?” she asked.

He laughed grimly.

“I said that if you were a hostage in the grip of the
past, rescuing hostages was just in my line.”

For the first time that evening Artemis smiled
her whimsical little smile, which was all her own
and had nothing to do with t he past.

“But you see, my American friend, I am not
asking to be rescued. My task lies clear before
me.”

“But you do not love the prince?” he asked
again. This crum of comfort, at least, might be
vouchsafed him.

She considered the question for a minute.

“I have never thought about it,” she answered,
raising her eyes to his.

“But supposing you should fall in love with
another man?”

“Love is a very wonderful thing, they say.
Do you suppose that if it came to me it could
make me so base as to want to give up my obli¬
gation to my people?”

“But how can you know how you will feel
when love comes?”

She did not try to keep the conversation im¬
personal. She laid her hand on his arm with an
unconscious gesture of caress.

“Yes, I do understand, and it matters much to
me that you suffer—only you are so strong, so
splendid, so much the master of your own destiny
that I can afford to let you suffer. But to my
nation I can deny nothing, for it is small and
weak and friendless. We had one friend,
France, but in her present struggle for life France
was obliged to abandon Greece. The other
nations have the strongest object in looking un¬
kindly on us; they want lands and islands either
belonging to us, or—like Asia Minor — morally
ours because peopled by Greeks and steeped in
Greek traditions.”

To Artemis’s amazement the American threw
back his head and laughed.

“You ridicule me!” she exclaimed with deep
hurt and reproach in her voice.

“No; I am laughing at myself — yes, and at
you, too. What other girl in the world would
reply to a declaration of love with politics? But
let me tell you one thing: I love you with
everything that is worth w hile in me, and I want
you with all that is human in me, and not for a
million diadoques or thrones or peoples shall I
give you up so long as there is a vestige of chance
to win you.”

“Yes, you will,” she said as earnestly as he, “because I
am going to ask it of you. It is very beautiful to have you
love me. Indeed, it gives me a happiness I have never felt
before ’ ’

“Then you want me to love you?” he interrupted
eagerly.

“Every w r oman wants to be loved by the man she likes
and admires — and I do like and admire you, oh! ever so
much, my splendid American, who bears himself like a
Greek god.”

Then perhaps because of the enchantment of the night,
or perhaps because she did not realize the force of Elihu’s
love, she w r ent on: “I loved you when you were a statue
in our Turkish garden, and I betrothed myself to you when
I was ten years old. When I became fifteen and was asked
to marry the diadoque, I sat up all night and cried — with
you standing so splendidly there in the garden. But I
gave you up then, and took up my tasks. Can you do less
now than T did then?”

Her words seemed to the American to make that which
she asked of him ten times more difficult. His emotion al¬
most suffocated him.

“But you only gave up a statue, a bit of marble, cold
and lifeless; but you — you are flesh and blood — you are
the enchantment of all the ages! Oh, my Artemis, don’t
let us sell our birthright of love for a mess of political
pottage!”

He held out his arms toward her; but she drew
back.

“You must not. If you so much as touch me, you will
cease to be my splendid American.” But her lip
quivered.

“Don’t!” he cried. “Whatever else you do, don’t be
human. Talk politics, and look like a priestess, if you
wish me to remember that you are to be the future queen
of Greece.”

Her manner became brief. “Good night, Mr. Peabody.
Please go.”

“Good night, then,” he replied. “But if you think I
Continued on page 6 1

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 23

*

Prepay f °« *'CE

% k ?/;T'- *>-

course, Z ™ijhou° d n o ' r

V'°Us/y

• ff,e soun • iOU add r

,n g. rL JUSt before

kH ear 'y kkz^ t j>sei.

V»» Sf. pre.

tAe m fo

serv-

“By special request I’m repeating
These recipes simple and fine
I’m sure all the friends of good eating
Will thank me whenever they dine.”

. please tomato

Cream Sa

Mi , 1 can cu ? fu>

lv cm/fi vvvth , /2 Then
liquid A* mbc with /2 tca .

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salt and P e PP f or one hour.
A set on icc . * rViickcn,
Se-vS Wr* “‘‘Uchoke,

etc., this

novelty

ON BOILED RICE

Campbell’s Style

Brown one onion thinly sliced
and 2 tablespoonfuls butter and
teaspoonful sugar. When brown
remove onion and add 2 tea¬
spoonfuls flour to butter, rub
smooth and brown; then add
1 can of Campbell’s Tomato
Soup and 1 can hot water; heat
slowly until thick, season to
taste with salt and paprika.
Serve mounds of well boiled
rice surrounded by the sauce.
This may be served with the
meat course for dinner or lunch¬
eon.

is

axuc

an agree

able

Inviting Variat,^
rur-r. var iations with
Cheese Croutons, etc

Saupfi th'r pSn^’ Tomato
°< Coma Jtyyj,* Cream

serving ffrate a 'V st bef <?re

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surface of , , OVer the

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each plateful o7 °f th<?m into

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«»«y sprinkled P3rS,ey or

Plateful of S o' d . over each
Cla, ly pleasing effe^L^ 3 Spe '

Every one of these tempting recipes is a
treasure for your cookbook and your table.

They are all easy to prepare, whole¬
some, delightfully appetizing.

They add a pleasing variety to your
daily menu. And you save time,
labor and expense by using

A Tempting Sauce

for FISH

Empty 1 can of Camp¬
bell’s Tomato Soup into a
saucepan, add 1 tablespoon¬
ful mushroom catchup, 1
tablespoonful lemon juice,
J4 pound grated mild
cheese, 1 teaspoonful made
mustard, l / 2 teaspoonful an¬
chovy extract and pepper
to taste. Stir all together
until smooth and boiling.
A pleasing sauce with any
kind of fish.

A Delicious Cream
of Tomato

Heat the contents of
the can and an equal
quantity of milk sepa¬
rately. Bring them to
boiling point, but do not
let them boil. When
ready to serve take them
from over the fire, and
pour the hot soup into
the hot milk. This pre¬
vents curdling, which
affects the smooth and
pleasing appearance of
the soup although it does
not affect its fine flavor
and w h o 1 e s o meness.
There could be nothing
more satisfying.

attract,VTUV toeped
W.TH WWPPEO CP ^

Prepare the a S °c?eam of

P' ain ° r ^cording toW

it.

Campbell’s Tomato Soup

It comes to you completely cooked, seasoned,
blended, ready for immediate use.

It is an ideal first course, either for a formal meal
or the family repast.

It is especially a joy and a benefit to the children
or any whose appetites are lagging.

It strengthens digestion, regulates the body-building
processes, aids directly in promoting
vigorous health.

Order it by the
dozen or case and
keep it handy.

Gambled Ec Gs

To tht

Camp

'BELL’S

21 kinds

a can

S,x ^olT-beate 8 ° f f °or to
one cud r fen cgp-s J°
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cold meat, sa^ s ; p e pixing
sauce adds
zest.

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rich you ^ a " and • t

in bouiUou p the table
before r cip with a tea-

tOP M of stiffly whipP^

spoonful or may be

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pped canned J: _r ° n ion i
1 c.an°c en br own d A?. per and

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with sal, Spagh cni, an j /0 Sou P,

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1 T 0 MATD

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. ,1

. •

PAGE 24 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

RESULTS - NOT RESOLUTIONS

COMMUNITY ACHIEVEMENTS FROM HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE

Detroit Recreation Commission

One of the best ways to promote community spirit is to
“start something” for the children. This gets the parents
interested, and before you know it you have a town organized
and ready to do things.

Do you want to do something to make your home town a
better place to live in? Send for “77 Things You Can Do
for Your Home Town.” Address: George T. Eager,

Butterick Building, New York.

J. Horace Me Farlavd Co.

What about the sick babies in the poorer sections of your
town during the hot Summer months? How many lives
could a band of resolute women save by starting a baby
hospital such as the above in one of your parks?

Many a beautiful countryside is
ruined by the stark ugliness of the
local stand-pipe or water-tank. Such
offenses to the sight are inexcusable.
Water-towers can be made beautiful
and pleasing to the eye.

As a water-tank must be on high
ground it is usually in full view of the
whole surrounding country. That is
why Roland Park, Maryland, enclosed
its tank with a beautiful tower that is a
pleasure to the whole community.

Donn Jlarber, Aichitcct

Here is how Greenwich, Connecticut,
improved the appearance of an ordi¬
nary steel tank. A structure of this
kind, if centrally located, could be made
to house a volunteer lire department
and serve as a town-clock tower as well.

A well-designed concrete tank has
solved the problem for this town.
The fostering of civic beauty and pride,
and the creation of a fine healthy com¬
munity spirit, is the great duty facing
every American woman to-day.

The thing that looks like a giant plate in the picture above is one of the wading-pools in the parks
of Des Moines, Iowa. The water has been drained out to show the construction. The pool is made
of concrete, and so designed that when filled the water gradually deepens toward the center, but is
never deep enough to reach above a child’s knees. Wading-pools will provide a nice, clean, safe
and inexpensive amusement for the children in your town.

Kazanjian Studio

Another advocate of wading-pools.

J. Horace McFarland Co.

Buffalo, New York, believes in wading-pools.

Brown Bros.

No wading-pools in this town.

.

- :

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

PAGE 25

A grain that looks like
silk but reminds one more
of iron in its resistance to
wear and hard knocks; a
surfacethatwillbeautifully
receive and hold whatever
stain or enamel you prefer;
the strength as well as the
beauty necessary for fine
furniture; reasonable price
-that’s “Beautiful Birch.”
Learn about it and you
will insist on having it.

Handsome illustrated book and six
samples of birch in six finishes free

THE NORTHERN HEMLOCK
& HARDWOOD MFRS’ ASSN.

207 F. R. A. Building

Oshkosh, Wis,

THE N

VIEW

SHOWN

IS A
BIRCH
HOME

s i ckne ss
this summer

EEDLESS sickness is
Prevent it

your

druyyist

Sold only in
the bottle
with the leaf
on the label}

1 N a crime,
at the start.

Summer complaint and
kindred troubles often requires
castor oil.

But be sure it is the real 100%
pure Kellogg's Tasteless
Castor Oil—the only oil that is
free from flavoring—‘tasteless
because super-refined.

The genuine always bears the
Kellogg trade-mark.

Spencer Kellogg U Sons,Inc.
Refiners of Vegetable Oils

Buffalo, N. Y.

Embroider, Crochet or Knit?
64 pages with 72 designs

Each pictured design carries definite instructions

Get the

Butterick Transfers

For Embroidery, Braiding, Etc.

ARE YOU AFRAID

TO ADOPT A CHILD?

BY HONORH WILLSIE

T HIS, properly speaking, is not the story of
a child at all, but of a man and woman.
It is the story of the growth of father¬
hood in the heart of a man.

I say growth, not birth, for fatherhood is as
universal in the souls of men as is motherhood
in the souls of women. All that is needed for
the growth of either attribute is opportunity.

This is a true story, except for the names.
We will call them John Austin and Mary
Austin, his wife.

John is a lawyer. Mary is an interior
decorator, and they both are hard-working,
eager-minded people, much given to quiet
evenings at home, either alone or with thinking
men and women like themselves.

At first it was a bitter disappointment to
them both that they had no children, but
after six or seven years of married life had
rolled by, John became fully reconciled. He
loved their free, peaceful, intellectual life.
He wanted no noisy child intruding on it.

They had been married for about seven
years when Mary first broached to John the
idea of adopting a baby. John was quite deaf
to the suggestion.

Mary continued to talk about it, however,
and after a year or so it dawned on John that
this very dear wife of his never would be happy
unless there was a youngster in the house.
And so very grudgingly and without enthusiasm
he gave his consent to the adopting of a boy.

THEREUPON Mary began that most
fascinating job in the whole world, the
search for a little homeless child that would
fit into her home. The story of that search
would make a book — a wonderful book for
any one with the love of a child in his heart.

It was a hunt that lasted over two years,
and it opened up a whole new world to Mary —
the world of the homeless child; the world of
the little, tragic, appealing wandcrlings whom
no one wants, whom no one heeds save those
few devoted souls whose lives are dedicated to
doing their best toward alleviating this stupid¬
est crime of civilization — the neglecting of
dependent children.

If John was interested in Mary’s occasional
report on her search, he concealed that interest
entirely. At times she brought to their
home for a day’s visit little boys who she
thought might interest John, for by this time
she had reached the point where all children
interested her.

But they bored John. He gave each child a
searching look, shrugged his shoulders, and
went about his work. And so for the two
years.

^HEN on a certain Saturday little Arthur
came to spend the day with Mrs.
Austin. John sighed as he heard the childish
voice in the living-room, laid down the brief he
was conning and went into the hall for his hat
and coat. There he paused for a moment,
listening to Mary and the child.

“You aren’t putting it together right,” said
the youngster.

“I know,” replied Mrs. Austin, “but you see
I don’t know much about aeroplanes.”

“It’s all wrong,” sighed the child.

John strolled into the living-room.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

A child of six was standing at Mary’s knee.
He was a brown-haired, blue-eyed little fellow,
not pretty, but with a good head, and eyes set
well apart. John gave him a long, keen look.

“This is Arthur,” said Mary, a little flus¬
tered by John’s appearing on the scene.

“Will you help?” cried Arthur, running
up to John, the cardboard aeroplane in his
hand.

“I’ll try,” replied John, sitting down on the
window-seat. Arthur immediately climbed up
beside him and slipped an arm comfortably
around John’s neck.

“Men have to make aeroplanes, not ladies,”
said the child.

“Sure!” grunted John with a look at Mary
which she interpreted as defiant.

She watched the two for a moment, then
slipped into the adjoining room. It was per¬
haps half an hour later that John followed her.

“Now that,” he said, “is a real kid. The
trouble with you is that you don’t know areal
one when you see him. Let’s take him to the
park for the afternoon.”

“Very well,” replied Mary meekly.

It was a wonderful afternoon in more ways
than one. Wonderful for Arthur, who never
within his recollection had been so guarded and
tended, but more wonderful for Mary, who
was seeing John in a new light.

She wais a very wise wife, this Mary. She
knew when and when not to make comments.
She made none now, either on the child or on
John’s unprecedented attitude and interest.

Even after Arthur had been taken home for
the night she said nothing.

gUT the next morning John laid down his
Sunday paper and said, very severely.
Well, what are you going to do about
Arthur?”

“Why, nothing, just now. They tell me he
is a very difficult child. He has a bad temper,
is very rough in his language and play, and is
as wild as a little Indian.”

I should hope he was!” exclaimed John.

\\ hat do you want, a sissy? But you might
add that he is affectionate and generous and
highly intelligent. I found that out for my¬
self. When are you going to take him?”

“Take him? Take Arthur? Why, John
dear, I - ”

“There you go!” shouted John. “Oh, you
women make me sick! Do you think I want a
sissy in my home? That’s a real boy! And I
know you. You won’t rest till you get him.
He ought to be with us now, of course, and
you’ll give me no peace until he is here! So
go get him.”

“But John, there’s another boy -”

“I don’t want to see him. If I’ve got to
have a cliild in my home, I want a two-fisted
boy, and I don’t want him spoiled any further
by being on his own. And I know you’re
worrying about him now. Why, Mary, do
you know what he said to me? He climbed
up in my lap over there in the park and
kissed me and hugged me and said: ‘I want
to stay in your house forever. I’d sleep on
the floor and I wouldn’t eat much. And when
I get big I’d work for you.’ Poor little chap!”

JOHN picked up his paper and Mary sat
u for a long time staring out of the window,
a little smile of amusement in her eyes and of
tenderness on her lips. And the next day she
went to the organization that had Arthur in
charge.

As Mary told John, the little fellow’s repu¬
tation, as she had got it more or less casually,
was that of an obstinate, high-tempered,
rather coarse-grained boy. Now, however,
she passed by the casual commentators and
after reading the history of his case, of his
parents and other known relatives, she talked
him over with the child-placing expert, who
knew Arthur well.

“He is an extraordinarily difficult child to
manage,” she said. “Two women have tried
him in their families and failed. But he is
a brilliantly promising child for the right people.

“I suggest that before you do anything
further you have a talk with our child psychi¬
atrist. He has been watching Arthur for nearly
a year.”

gO MARY made her pilgrimage to Dr.

C-’s office. She had a long talk with

him. I wish I had space to go into the details
of his study of the cliild. But this is, in brief,
his report:

He said that Arthur was a brilliant child;
that he was unusually affectionate, sensitive
and thoughtful; that so far in his little life he
had had no normal outlet for his active mind
and body; that a child could find a normal
outlet only in family life; that the normal
family for Arthur must be an intelligent and
refined one; so only could he lose liis rough
ways and develop the sweetness and fineness
that were in him; that the constant obstruc¬
tion and perversion of all his best tendencies
had made him irritable, obstinate and hard to
handle.

“Remember two things,” he said in closing,
“that he is not bad, and that if, as far as is
possible, you explain your commands to him ,
you will have little trouble in making him obey.
And give him all the love in the world. He’s
starved for it.”

^ND so, in this wise, little Arthur came to his
home. It was very difficult at first for all
three— John, Mary and Arthur. The quiet
of the home was disturbed. There was a
new and overwhelming sense of responsibility.

There were days when the child exhausted
not only his now father and mother, but him¬
self as well. There were days when Mary won¬
dered why she had taken a child into her life.

Arthur seemed for the first month to have no
tools, mental or physical, with which to adjust
himself to the surroundings of a gentle home.
He was rough, unruly and, above all, sus¬
picious.

He took no adult’s word for anything. It
demanded all Mary’s faith in the child-expert’s
judgment, those first few weeks, to keep from
asking John to give the boy up as impossible.
But John never wavered in his resolution, once
it was taken.

And if the child had not himself finally
reconciled Mary to the event, the discovery
of this liitherto imknown side of her husband
would have. His fatherhood was a quality
that came forth spontaneously and com¬
pletely with the advent of the child.

JOHN was patient, was firm, was gentle,
u was hard, was wise and interested and
affectionate. Mary, suppressing an impa¬
tience within herself that was as new to her as
it was profound, watched John with wondering
admiration those first weeks.

For he adjusted himself to fatherhood much
more easily than she did to motherhood.
Curious, wasn’t it?

But after the first two months Mary ceased
to wonder why she had taken Arthur. * In this
short period a miracle took place with the child.

His rough ways disappeared, routed by his
affection and by his dawning conviction that
this home really was his, that he really be¬
longed to these gentle, kindly people. His
brilliant mind, given plenty of food of the
right sort, developed amazingly. And Mary
suddenly was very proud of him.

And then she realized that during all their
married life she and John had been living
on the outside of real life, that within the pale
of parenthood only was to be found life to the
uttermost limits. After Arthur became truly
their own, they found themselves admitted to
a new order of human beings, the order of
parents.

And within that order they found hundreds
of seemingly ordinary persons who were living
lives of sacrifice, of compensation, of intel¬
lectual problems, of tenderness and love, of
which they never had dreamed. Within the
first year of Arthur’s life with them they had
learned a new language of tongue and brain
and heart.

And Arthur? Oh, Arthur has become an
essential part of themselves! They mostly
forget that Arthur is not flesh of their flesh.
They even go so far as to swear to their friends
that Arthur never was a problem.

Are you afraid to adopt a child? If you
are, why don’t you write to The Delineator’s
Child-Helping Department and let us put you
right in the matter?

Cleans every part
of every tooth
every time it’s
used. And "A
Clean Tooth
Never Decays.”
Always sold in
the Yellow Box.

FLORENCE MFG. CO.
Florence, Mass.

Canadian A ddress:
42S Coristine Bldgr.
Montreal, Canada

PAGE 26

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

Dandy shoes
for dainty feet

Keds are the proper sort of
shoes for summer. You have
heard about them, of course.
Boys and girls are wearing
them everywhere.

When you wear Keds, it’s
next to going barefoot. The
rubber soles are springy and
almost noiseless. The canvas
tops are so light and wonder¬
fully comfortable.

There are Keds for school,
Keds for sports, Keds for spe¬
cial occasions. Just the kind of
good-looking shoes you want!
And they cost really very
little and wear splendidly.

You can obtain Keds at any
good shoe-store. Get Mother
and Dad to go with you and
select a pair for themselves as
well. Ask for Keds. Look
for the name 4 4 Keds’ ’ stamped
on the sole.

United States Rubber Company

MOONLIGHT FUN

AT AUGUST MASQUERADES

BY EDNA ERLE WILSON

A BIG yellow moon, fancy costumes and
masks, twanging banjos and a happy
gathering of young folk form the motif
of a poetic entertainment staged out-of-doors
in the month of August.

The invitations are printed in yellow paint
upon correspondence cards, which are deco¬
rated round the edges with a border of sketchy
lanterns and a harvest moon on which a
laughing face is distinctly visible. This dog¬
gerel conveys the welcome summons bidding
the guests to an evening in the land of Let’s
Pretend:

We’ll hold a jolly masquerade

At eight o’ the clock on Tuesday night;

To the sound of the banjos’ serenade

We’ll dance and play in the bright moon¬
light.

The name of t he hostess is added at the bot¬
tom of the card and on the opposite side is a
note stating that should the moon fail to put
in its appearance on the stipulated evening,
the guests may follow its example and come
upon t he first moonshiny night thereafter.

WHEN they arrive at the entrance of their
VV hostess’ home the guests find the gates
spanned by arches of Japanese lanterns, while
the sound of stringed instruments and the
flickering, gaily colored lights bobbing among
the trees on the lawn seem to beckon the way
into a magic country of make-believe. A gay,
dominoed figure welcomes them and pins a
tiny cardboard slipper to each girl’s sleeve.
The men are directed toward a little white tent
on the outside of which is printed the following
rime:

Every maid’s a Cinderella;

Every man’s a knight;

Take a shoe and And the girl

Whose foot it fits aright!

When the men step inside the tent they find
that it strangely resembles a fantastic kind
of shoe-store, for its sides are lined with card¬
board foot-gear of every size and color. Each
man chooses a slipper and starts forth upon
the merry quest of locating the girl who wears
its mate, not on her foot, but on her sleeve.

A/TORE than ever, the scene becomes a
iVA colorful pageant as each man starts on
the age-old pursuit of a retreating, beckoning
maiden. And the man in the moon, even
though he is so old and wise, must laugh as he
watches from the star-spangled sky.

A romantic knight in silk and velvet and
flashing sword pursuing a poppy-maiden in the
brightest of red crepe-paper hats only to find
that she wears a small pink slipper whereas
his Cinderella must wear a big red one is
enough to make anybody laugh. A ferocious
Indian on the most peaceful terms with a
demure little Priscilla is easily explained by the
simple fact that their shoes match. And an
animated Summer breeze in a short Grecian
dross and a floating veil lives up to her reputa¬
tion for fickleness by leading a black-robed
monk a merry chase through the trees only to
discard him at the end for a brightly garbed
pirate.

AFTER every man has found his Cinderella,
^ a certain length of time is allowed for
conversation before masks are taken off and
identities revealed. Then the couples are sm-e
to find their way down a lantern-hung path
which leads to the space reserved for dancing.

This may be either a stretch of smooth vel¬
vety lawn or a floor laid for the purpose and
covered with canvas. It is illuminated by
gasoline burners or electric lights which are
fastened to posts. Between the posts ropes
of vines and flowers are festooned. An or¬
chestra screened by vines furnishes the music.

The usual dances which belong to the every¬
day indoor party may seem too modern and
up to date to be danced by monks and Roman
gladiators and Colonial maidens. The Vir¬
ginia Reel, the Lancers and the Minuet may
not belong to the exact period of the masquers
but they are old enough to belong to that in¬
definite age of “once upon a time.”

OALP the fun of a masquerade lies in
A ^ attempting to guess the identity of the
masked figures, and in concealing your own
identity. A Paul Jones or a round dance
will bring about a general mingling of the
guests and should be danced before the un¬
masking.

A cotillion need not be as formal nor as punc¬
tilious as the ball-room dance of that name.
Out on the lawn the figures may be simpler
than in the brightly lighted hall and the same
exactness is not required of either the leaders
or the other dancers.

As only a part of the dancers appear in the
cotillion figures at the same time, they will
have a splendid opportunity to gaze upon the
costumes of their fellow masquers.

Bright balloons of all colors can be given as
cotillion favors. Nothing could be prettier
than the bright, bobbing balloons held by the
gaily dressed dancers.

There is a subtle influence exerted upon the
personality by clothes. It can not be defined

nor explained, but in some strange manner tho
mood changes to fit the garb of the moment.

\V 11EN every-day clothes arc cast asido
V V something of the every-day character
of the wearer is also discarded. The strange
costume'and the mask make a new person, a
being who will dare much which the conven¬
tionally garbed individual of the workaday
world would not dream of doing.

And the magic potency of the moon, famed
through the ages, and the masquerade under
the light of the moon suggest fascinating
possibilities.

Perhaps t he maiden in the flowing robes will
give a Grecian dance, and the Indian dance
the Fire-dance of his tribe, and the clown
present a comic pantomime. A prize could
be given to the guest who can extemporize the
best stunt in keeping with his costume.

Bits of scenes from history or literature
could be staged, with the masquers as actors
in costume. The hostess could choose two of
the guests to act as stage directors.

Sides would be chosen as in charades, each
leader, of course, striving to obtain for his side
the characters who would represent the most
effective scenes, and particularly those whose
costumes make it possible for them to act
together.

As the guests leave the dancing-platform
they are met by a little sprite in filmy white
draperies who presents each one with a paper
water-lily. To each flower dangles a card
bearing this message:

This flower will open wide the gate
To whate’er the future may hold.
In the little green bower near the big
elm-tree

You may have your fortune told.

THE little green bower is studded with
* water-lilies and bears a placard over its
door announcing:

Inside this tent dwells Neptune’s daughter;
Your fate she’ll i-ead in magic water.

And this the white-robed young damsel in¬
side does as the guests will testify. Fortunes
are told by the water method which is not only
unique but one that any “seeiess,” however
inexperienced, will find easy to follow, and
about which any hostess will be glad to know.

If the hostess desires to provide further
amusement, croquet played with phosphores¬
cent balls and hoops will appeal to the more
energetic of the young guests. A game of
archery at close range presided over by Saint
Hubert, the patron saint of foresters, is also
in order.

Saint Hubert combines the characteristics
of monk and hunter and is garbed in a long
cassock tied about the waist with a rope, and
wears a bugle in place of a crucifix. On his
head he wears a close-fitting green cap sur¬
mounted by a small pair of deer-horns, with
a cross of gilt pasteboard between the branches.

TNDERNEATH a giant Japanese um-
J brella, punch is dispensed to whoever
trolls in that direction. Presiding over the
rape-decorated bowl is a dainty little shep-
ArrlesK who is assisted in her nleasant task by

All the guests are sure to visit this popular
spot several times during the course of tho

evening.

Refreshments are served on the broad piazza
at a number of small tables. Each table
has a basket of yellow roses for a centerpiece
and the place-cards arc gay little round yellow
moons with the guests’ names written across
them in black ink. The menu consists of:

Moonlight Salad

Lovers’ Sandwiches Romantic Cakes

Sundaes a la Masquerade
August Dew Lemonade

]y/| OONLIGHT salad is fruit salad served
in orange baskets. Lovers’ sandwiches
are made of white bread, filled with pimento
cheese and tied with narrow yellow ribbon.
Romantic cakes are iced with marshmallow
and decorated with orange-peel. Sundaes
a la masquerade are almond ice-cream with
chocolate sauce. August dew lemonade is
half lemonade and half grape-juice.

As souvenirs each guest is presented with
a little silk bag containing five mysterious
flower-petals, each of a different color, and a
small pencil. Upon a sheet of yellow paper
are written the directions for using these
magic charms which are sure to win the help
of the man in the moon in solving all love
troubles.

YX/'RITE to me if you would like to obtain
VV the method of pretending to tell fortunes
by magic water used by Neptune’s daughter
in this party. I shall be glad also to send
any hostess full directions for using the flower-
petal charms.

Enclose a two-cent stamped, self-addressed
envelope and send your letter to Edna Erie
Wilson, The Delineator Service Depart¬
ment, Butterick Building, New York City.

THE DELINEATOR TOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 27

rnmmm—

a

■

They Meet
Where There’s Music

That’s where the young folks flock
of an evening. In every neighborhood
there’s some hospitable home where
the Columbia Grafonola attracts
guests like a merry musical magnet.

Right well they know where they’ll hear the
latest popular songs, and dance to the newest
waltzes and ja^es. The pure, brilliant tone
of the Grafonola makes it the ideal instrument
for the informal dance or party. The best music,
the best fun, and the best dancing are always
waiting to welcome guests in happy homes made
musical by the Columbia Grafonola.

To make a good record great,
play it on the Columbia Grafonola

COLUMBIA GRAPHOPHONE COMPANY, New York

London Factory: 102 Clerkenwell Road, E. C.

PAGE 28

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

—and look! Mother, what a long
cord there is on the Cleaner.”

"ft

. i

l-.. * . , V , * f

'y->

“Yes, dear, it’s all lovely and Mother is very

A cherished plan realized—the beginning
of real home-keeping with the joy of
personal accomplishment, servants and all the
incumbent worries done away with.

To many women with a yearning for real home-keeping
our announcements in their favorite magazines have
been a welcome guide to intelligent buying. And the
electric wiring is now being made to render service all
over the house, day and night.

Full measure of utility is embodied in
our beautiful tableware which adds table
cookery to the domestic graces.

The 7-cup Grecian Urn illustrated is $21.50.
Without panels $18.50. Other urns ranging in
price up to a magnificent 12-cup Silver Serving
Urn at $95.00. Percolator Pots from $10.00 up.

The Iron and Toaster are the most use¬
ful and therefore the most widely used
of all household electrical appliances.

The 6-pound Iron shown below at right is $6. 50.
Traveler’s 3-pound Iron $5.50. Traveling Set
■—iron, stand and curling tongs in bag, $7.00.

The Toaster is made in two beautiful
styles, one shown above and a slightly
smaller and lighter model.

The Ornamental Toaster beside the Grecian
Urn is $7.00. The other style at $6.00.

Now comes a clever little motor, and
sewing consists of merely guiding the
work. The Edison Electrics are portable
—use them wherever convenient. _.

The Rotary Sewing Machine shown
is $55.00. The % Size Vibrator,
slightly smaller, is $45.00. All
models $2.00 higher west of Rockies.

G-E DIVISION

Edison Electric Appliance Company Inc.

Chicago
Ontario, Calif.

New York

Atlanta

Manufacturers of these well-known lines:
Hotpoint General-Electric Type

Edison Hughes

Scientific Cookery

All the uncertainties are removed and
cooking becomes scientifically accurate
when you install a General Electric
Type Range. The exact degree of
heat required is always instantly avail¬
able and under constant control. Just
the turn of a switch starts the heat or
stops it.

The Range here shown will do the entire
cooking for a large family—do it better
and easier than any fuel range.

More than 40,000 families now cook
exclusively with electricity. We suggest
that you take this matter up with your
Lighting Company.

I

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 29

A SAFE SUMMER

IN THE WORLD OF BABIES

BY CAROLYN CONANT VAN BLARCOM

HEAVEN LIES ABOUT . US IN OUR INFANCY

I N FACING the hot clays with your own
baby, bear in mind these few facts:

1. More babies die during Summer than
any other time.

2. They die from intestinal poisoning vari¬
ously known as dysentery, diarrhea, Summer
complaint and cholera infantum.

3. The poisoning is caused by germs or de¬
composing food in the intestinal tract.

4. The second Summer is safer than the
first if proper care is given.

The way to protect your baby from this poi¬
soning and thus prevent Summer complaint is
to:

1. Feed him properly.

2. Keep him clean.

3. Keep him cool.

4. Keep him quiet.

These directions sound simple, but they in¬
clude practically all that is known about keep¬
ing a baby well. Suppose we take them up one
at a time.

1. Feed him properly. One-third of the in¬
fant deaths in Summer are due to improper
feeding. Feed your baby at the breast if pos¬
sible. Summer complaint is not common
among nursing babies.

Nurse him regularly and only every four
hours. You must exercise regularly, eat sim¬
ply, sleep sufficiently and avoid constipation
if your milk is to be satisfactory.

Boil or pasteurize the milk if your baby is
bottle-fed and feed him with clocklike regu¬
larity. Whether breast-fed or bottle-fed, he
should have a fourth to a third less food in very
hot weather than he usually takes, and an
increased amount of cool, boiled water to
drink.

2. Keep him clean. Remember that germs
cause Summer complaint. Everything that
touches your baby must be clean. The milk
must be clean and kept clean and cold. The
bottles, nipples and everything used in pre¬
paring the milk must be boiled and kept clean.
If you are nursing your baby, you must take
extra care in bathing your nipples before he
nurses.

His drinking-water must be boiled. He
must have at least one complete soap-and-
water bath every day and be bathed and pow¬
dered each time his napkin is changed. His
clothes and his bedding must be immaculately
clean.

Be particularly careful about the napkins.
When soiled or wet, they must be placed at
once in water in a covered receptacle so that
they can not be reached by flies. They must
be washed as soon as possible and boiled for
fifteen minutes.

Flies must be kept from the baby and his
food. Screen Ms room and use netting over
Ms carriage and crib. Keep the cats and dogs
away from Mm as they, too, spread disease.

Keep pacifiers and other playthings out of
his mouth. And since Ms little lingers and
thumbs will sometimes travel mouthward, they,
too, must be kept clean. Spread a clean sheet
on the floor before you put the baby down to
creep or play, and don’t let him crawl off on
the dust-laden floor or carpet. Never sweep
in the room where the baby is.

3. Keep him cool. Babies and children feel
the heat more than grown-ups and do not
stand it well. Your baby’s clothing during hot
weather must be light and loose — no starch
and no constricting bands. A diaper, band,
thin shirt and slip will usually be enough for
him to wear out-of-doors. In the house the
diaper, band and gauze shirt are enough and
he may sometimes leave off the shirt. During
extreme heat he should have one or two cool
sponge-baths every day in addition to the tub
bath. You will refresh the hot little body
still more by adding a few tablespoons of alco¬
hol to the sponge-bath water.

Keep the baby m the coolest spot to be

found and out-of-doors as much as possible.
A good plan is to keep him out-of-doors during
the early morning hours and late afternoon,
always avoiding the sun, and M the house dur¬
ing the middle of the day, in a room with the
shutters closed.

Put him to sleep in a well-ventilated room
and on a firm mattress. Feather beds and
mothers’ laps are hot and consequently bad
for the baby, particularly m Summertime.

Prickly heat, that irritating rash that you
notice first on the back of the baby’s neck and
then over his head, neck, chest and shoulders,
is caused either by too much clothing or the
hot weather or both. So in keeping the baby
cool you are also preventing prickly heat.

If, in spite of your precautions, he has tMs
rash, give him sponge or tub baths frequently
during the day. You will find that starch
baths, soda baths, bran baths are all sootMng.
They are prepared as follows:

Starch bath: One cup of cooked laundry
starch to one gallon of water at the tempera¬
ture he is used to.

Soda bath: Two tablespoons of cooking soda
to one gallon of water.

Bran bath: Fill a cotton bag, about six rnches
square, half full of bran and soak tMs m the
bath water until it looks milky. Do not use
soap or ointments on the baby’s skin while he
has prickly heat. Pat Ms skm dry with soft
towels after bathing and use a powder made
of the following : powdered starch, one ounce;
oxid of zinc, one ounce; boracic-acid powder,
sixty grams.

Although Summer complaint is an intes¬
tinal trouble, keeping the baby cool is one pre¬
ventive. If he becomes overheated, fretful
and restless, he may be unable to digest Ms food
normally. It then decomposes and the famil¬
iar vomiting and diarrhea and fever result.

4. Keep him quiet. TMs, too, helps to keep
his digestive apparatus in good working order.
You know when we grown-ups get very tired
or wrought up and excited, our digestions often
suffer.

And so the baby that is rocked and danced
and entertained and doesn’t get enough sleep
is in greater danger of a digestive disturbance
than one who is kept quiet and tranquil.

Make it easy for your baby to sleep as much
as possible during the day in addition to hav¬
ing a good night’s sleep. And keep Mm quiet
and free from excitement while awake.

The frequent baths will help to keep Mm
qMet. Give the evening bath just before the
six-o’clock feeding and tuck him in for the
night by half-past six. If he is lightly clad
and the room cool and quiet, there is every
reason to believe that he will have a good
night.

BE WATCHFUL

'Y'HE normal healthy baby has one or two
bowel movements every day. If there
are three or four or more, something is wrong.
It may be only a mild upset or it may be the
beginmng of a serious attack.

Don’t make the mistake of tMnking that it
is due to Ms teetliing. Give Mm an enema of
eight ounces of water at 110 degrees Fahren¬
heit containing half a teaspoon of salt.

Reduce the food one-half if the disturbance
is mild, whether the baby be breast-fed or bot¬
tle-fed, and give plenty of cool, boiled water to
drink. If he is bottle-fed, use skim-milk in hi s
formula and omit the sugar. Unless he im¬
proves promptly, send for your doctor.

If there is diarrhea with vomitmg and the
baby seems feverish, stop all Ms food and send
for the doctor at once. Give only boiled water
to drink until he comes.

After the attack subsides remember that
the return to his former food must be very
gradual. One attack of Summer complaint
predisposes to others.

mere is just enough

Boric Acid in
Colgate’s Talc

With Colgate's you are
sure of the safe anti¬
septic action of the
right amount of boric
acid—as well as of su¬
perior fineness and
absorbent action. You
are sure also of two
other healing and
soothing ingredients
which Dr. Breneman
found in Colgate’s and
in none of the others.

roves it:

Analysis of Talc Powders
by A. A. Breneman, M. Sc.

Feb. 14, 1916

Colgate’s Talc contains 10.54%* of boric
acid

No. 2 Talcum powder contains no boric
acid

No. 3 Talcum powder contains 4.00%
of boric acid

No. 4 Talcum powder contains 1.12%
of boric acid

No. 5 Talcum powder contains .40%
of boric acid

No. 6 Talcum powder contains no boric
acid

*Just the right amount

Six years before, Dr. Breneman made
the same test, with the same brands.
The only difference is that the 1916 re¬
port shows that Colgate’s and one other
Talc have somewhat increased the
amount of boric acid.

Is your baby going to
have the comfort the
extra boric acid means

The widest choice of perfumes
also — there are 11 different
scents of Colgate’s, besides
Tinted and Unscented Talcs.

A dainty trial box sent
for 2 cents in stamps

COLGATE & CO.

Dept. 53

199 Fulton St., New York

4

14

PAGE 30 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

A touch of Cutex
Nail White under¬
neath the nails gives
them snow-white
tips

The most effective
way to keep the
cuticle always trim,
smooth, even. See
directions below

A few brisk rubs
with Cutex Nail
Polish gives just the
quick, waterproof
polish you want

Why cutting ruins

the cuticle

S TART today to have the
shapely, well-kept nails that
make any hand beautiful.
Over and over, specialists re¬
peat the advice — "Do not trim
the cuticle.” "Under no circum¬
stances should scissors or knife
touch the cuticle.” "Cutting is
ruinous.”

It was to meet this need for a
harmless cuticle remover that the
Cutex formula was prepared.

Cutex completely
does away with cuti¬
cle cutting; it leaves
the skin at the base
of the nail smooth,
firm, unbroken.

The right way
to manicure

In the Cutex
package you will find
an orange stick and
absorbent cotton.

Wrap a little cotton
around the end of
the stick and dip it
into the Cutex bot¬
tle. Then work the
stick around the
base of the nail,
gently pushing back
tbe cuticle.

Almost at once you will find
you can wipe off the dead surplus
skin. Wash the hands thoroughly
with soap and water, pushing back
the cuticle when you dry them.

A touch of Cutex Nail White
-—a soft, white cream—removes
all discolorations from under¬
neath the nails.

Cutex Nail Polish gives your
nails either a high or a soft finish,
whichever you prefer.

Until you use Cutex, you can¬
not know how attractive your
nails can be made to look!

Get Cutex in any drug store
or department store.
Manicuring direc¬
tions are in each
package.

Cutex comes in 35c
and 65c bottles. Cu¬
tex Nail White, Nail
Polish and Cuticle
Comfort are eack35c.

Send for
Manicure Set

Mail the coupon
today with 20c—
and we will send
you a Cutex Midget
Manicure Set, com¬
plete with orange
stick, emery boards
and absorbent cot¬
ton. Enough for at
least six "mani¬
cures.” Send for it today. Address
Northam Warren, Dept. 1208,114
West 17tli Street, New York

City. If you live in Canada address
Northam Warren, Dept. 1208,200 Moun¬
tain Street, Montreal, Canada.

{Photo, Ira Hill ISludio, New Yurie)

Elsie Janis, a favorite
everywhere, says, r T am
delighted with Cutex. I
have just finished my nails
and find it wonderf ul .”

NORTHAM WARREN

Dept. 1208,114 West 17th Street, New York City

Name .

Street .

City .'.. State.

Mail this

coupon

with

two dimes
today

This com¬
plete mani¬
cure set sent
you for only
20 cents

Continued

“IN THE NAME

THE TRE

the souls of men have been strangely welded
to a new solidarity.

YOU see, so many people who never knew
before, have found out about suffering
and sorrow. There was no steam heat at the
front; and no one who’s stood there in the
trenches with frozen feet wants any one else
to be cold.

There was never bread in France like the
baking-company at home used to make; and
no one who’s marched there twenty-four hours
at a stretch, without any food at all, wants
any one else to go hungry. Most of all, no
one acquainted with the grief of giving a boy
in defense of his native land wants any one
else to have that to do again. And some of
those I’ve talked with, who’ve been at the
brink of hell, wouldn’t send any one else there
—not even a German.

Like this, the war has in every land brought
a wider understanding of human experience.
You may have been fortunate enough not to
have had to And out personally. But almost
surely the man next door, who borrows your
lawn-mower, did. Or it was a woman in the
next pew to yours at the Methodist church,
to whom this tragic thing happened.

They have told you. So you know. There
isn’t an I. W. W. in sight. There’s not a Bol¬
shevik about. Nobody’s waving any red flag
in your front yard. But the Brotherhood of
Man is near.

HP^E State of Kansas cares as it never cared
before about the State that is called the
Department of the Aisne or the Ardennes in
the foreign land of France. Missouri cares.
Annie Northcutt from Knox City is sending
trees to Vic-sur-Aisne.

Wyoming cares. Alice Cutting Phelps,
way up on a ranch at Burntfork, Wyoming,
has made with her own hands at night, when
her three children were in bed, the loveliest
layette—all the soft embroidered little flannel
things and the filmy little lace-trimmed tilings.
It quite filled the top tray of my trunk. I am
taking it with Alice Phelps’s love to some
young mother in France who may need it
most.

Georgia cares. There’s a girl in Georgia
who would adopt a baby in France in memory
of a man who died at the front. I am carry¬
ing the first payment of twenty-five dollars
that binds the bargain.

Winston-Salem, North Carolina, cares.
They’ve given twenty thousand dollars to buy
the motor kitchen that’s serving luncheons to
school children in the devastated districts.

New York cares. Florence Norbury at the
Metropolitan Building goes without her lunch
because she’s so busy shipping clothes for
regions devastecs. Six hundred girl employees
of the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company,
whom she’s mobilized for the American Com¬
mittee for the Relief of Devastated France, are
sitting up nights in New York making gar¬
ments for girls in France who haven’t so much
as a room in which to sew.

“Tell them how sorry we are,” was the mes¬
sage that Florence Norbury gave me. But
the piles of beribboned chemises and the frill-
iest nightgowns one girl’s fingers can fashion
for another, will say it much better than
I can.

T IKE this I could rim through for you the
■ L/ long list of those for whom The Delinea¬
tor is undertaking this mission to France.
Checking them off in my note-book as I sat in
a steamer chair, I found it was all of the United
States that cares.

It’s America’s handwriting one sees on the
crumbling walls of civilization over here: in
union there is strength. And all the land of
liberty is backing the idea. Why, I meet in
the Rue de Rivoli almost as many Americans
as you may in Broadway or Main Street.

Nor is it only France. Every country in
Europe has sent up the despairing cry: Come
over and help us! Literally by the boatload
our countrymen in service uniform are arriv¬
ing.

On that steamship on which I crossed were
food commissions taking bread to Belgium and
Poland, health commissions to cure tubercu¬
losis in France, housing-commissions to help
in Italy and Greece, industrial commissions
for Roumania, commercial commissions
carrying capital to Russia.

Indeed, not a passenger had obtained a pass¬
port without meeting the government chal¬
lenge: What can you do that’s worth while
over there?

A beautiful woman whose name adorns the
society columns of two continents would open
her house in Passy. Well, with the check-book
of one of America’s greatest fortunes in her
hand-bag she would be welcome. The builder
of one of New York’s finest theaters would buy
plays in Paris.

Why, yes; these also would serve who only
spend their money. Read the rate of exchange.
The U. S. dollar leads all the rest!

Those soap signs and biscuit signs’ of ours
may not be culture. The Butterick Building
and the Woolworth Building and anything
else we have is not a cathedral; we can only
call it so. But New York’s Great White Way,
shimmering and sparkling and splendid at
night with the electric advertising of America’s
material achievement, I guess looks pretty
good to the Old World now.

I’m sure nobody minds the American accent
any more. The folks who have it can do
things. Art is idle and museums are mute be¬
fore the present crisis.

Not the sonatas nor the old masters nor the
Victorian poesy you may have produced, make
now the measure of a man. But can you organ¬
ize relief “p. d. q.”?

“Coming, ‘toot sweet,’ ” which is “right
away,” was the answer from over the Atlantic.

from page 4

OF LAFAYETTE’’

E OF JOY

r THE world on this side from which I write is
in an awful hole—and it’s very old. Only
America can pull it out.

The task is one for New-World youth and
energy, the initiative for the sudden emer¬
gency, the daring for the quick turn. You can
fairly feel the Yankees’ driving force as they
breeze past you over here in the streets of Paris
or London or Rome. They’re going right
along, going to get there. And with all this
speed, do you know it’s the American man who
has time to open a door for a woman to pass?

Other men over here kiss your hand. I like
the man who opens the door.

VWELL, anyhow, it’s the persistence and the
push and the courage that put up our sky¬
scrapers and put over our commerce, that are
required now to put things through. All the
Old-World machinery moves on creaking
hinges, rusty with the ages.

The ascenseur at my hotel is an elevator
that with good luck will manage to take me up.
But by its very name it is that which ascends.
Dare I tax it to take me down? There will be
days when it will hang out the sign “ Arrete ,”
quite unable to fimetion at all.

Only American wheels can be relied on to go
round unfailingly. And it is wholly a New-
World way to do things at the touch of an elec¬
tric button.

Europe, rooted in a thousand years of tra¬
dition, is able to proceed only by precedent.
What confronts a continent to-day is a situa¬
tion without precedent. My country, O my
country, on you humanity is leaning!

America is meeting the crisis with the great¬
est first-aid undertaking ever launched; mil¬
lions of money, millions of men and women,
and more to follow. Never before has history
witnessed anything like it. It’s a nation’s pil¬
grimage of service to other peoples. And
there is in it an ardor of devotion that amounts
to a crusade.

Captains of industry and finance are leading
it. But also that boat on which I came brought
girls from Alabama and Ohio and Idaho; Red-
Cross girls and Red-Triangle girls; girls in blue
uniforms and gray uniforms and black uni¬
forms; girls from everywhere from Maine to
California. They are enlisted for work some
of them wouldn’t be doing at all in Montgom¬
ery, Alabama, or Chillicothe, Ohio, or Twin
City, Idaho.

They are willing to wash babies’ faces in a
creche or serve sandwiches in a factory can¬
teen or run typewriters in Paris or automobile
trucks in devastated districts. These girls of
ours are ready for anything in a war-racked
world. They’ll do it while some one else is get¬
ting started and turn with a smile, “What
next?”

(^AN’T you see the internationalism the war
has won, laying firm the foundations for the
Federation that anarchy shall not rock? And
the United States calling to the other nations:
“Come on! Lend a hand! Divided we fall;
united we’ll stand!”

Any one doing relief work anywhere is lay¬
ing a brick in this new social structure. All
the great political epochs are not on printed
pages. The sun that rose this morning across
yoiu cornfield, say in Indiana or Oklahoma,
shines on one.

All the heroines aren’t stone statues yet.
Outside the window where I write, Jeanne
d’Arc on her golden horse has been a long time
done with what she did for her country. Even
Edith Cavell is at rest in her tomb.

But there are those whose skirts we brush
as we pass who are going right on living now
for their native land or some other.

UOW wide-spread is the fervor of this almost
universal urge for service to-day, I real¬
ized first when I saw how it had got Betty.
Yes, I came to know her like that.

She turned round from the steamer’s rail.
And I saw her face. She’s only twenty-three.
Do you remember what Vergil called the
“purpureal glow of youth”? Well, it isn’t
there.

All of Betty’s brightness has been dimmed.
Hers are the saddest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
Lines etch cruelly about the young mouth.
There isn’t any more pink in her cheeks.
There are hollows where the dimples used to be.

Some gaunt shadow, slipped over the young
face, has quite subdued its smiling. The girl,
it seems, has just gone gray! What happened
to her? I gasped. What happened to her?

When she drew her rug about her in the
next steamer chair to mine I found out.

“Oh,” she said casually, “it’s the trench
look. So often I’m told I’ve got it.”

The trench look, as it’s called over here,
comes from seeing things. Men got it when
they went over the top. Betty’s been over the
top, too. And there she left her youth.

“You see,” she said, “I was at the big show
—at Chateau-Thierry,” she explained with a
laugh. She doesn’t smile. But she laughs.
And you wish she wouldn’t. It’s so hard and
hurt.

“I could stand it while it was the others,”
she said; “but when it was the American boys,
my heart just broke.”

She blew a cigaret wreath out to sea. “I
can’t cry any more,” she said. “I haven’t
been able to since Chateau-Thierry and the
night that Eddie Reagan died.”

JMTTLE by little like that, as we sat there on
the deck, she told me. And David used to
go by, walking up and down and nod to us.
David wore in one coat-lapel a Christian-En-
deavor pin and in the other a Friends’ War-
Service Cross.

Six or eight other boys were with him
from Portland, Oregon, and Wichita, Kansas,
and Philadelphia. They belong to the pecu-
Concliided on page 31

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

PAGE

Concluded from pa&e 30

“IN THE NAME OF LAFAYETTE"

THE TREE OF JOY

liar people who visioned the ideal of peace sev¬
eral hundred years before nine million men of
this generation had to die to attain it. The
young Quakers were on their way over for re¬
construction, to serve as carpenters or hewers
of wood or anything else.

“Anything that France needs us to do, that’s
what we’re offering ourselves for,” David said.

He used to go round the deck in his high,
fine ardor with a quick, eager tread. I always
thought of him as marching to Paris to set the
world in order. David is twenty-three, just as
young as the girl beside me was old.

The night that Eddie Reagan died—Eddie
Reagan from Avenue A—above the war’s red
glare of hell, she faced the white light of eternity
to see him across through the gates of heaven.
There was no one else to.

God certainly moves in a mysterious way.
Betty, before the war, had never done any¬
thing so difficult as that. She lived in a brown-
stone house in Fifty-fourth Street off Fifth
Avenue. She drove her own car, and she
danced well, and went to the matinee twice a
week, and ate expensive chocolates, and re¬
quired many costly flowers, and had her
cigarets gold-tipped.

She was just an ornamental decoration in
the world. There hadn't been any dying in
all her happy days.

Then the troops began to march and the
bands began to play. The girls in her set were
getting ready to go into war work.

Could you speak French and rim your own
car and pay for your own gasoline? Betty
could. And she was among the first to get off.
But she didn’t even know it was self-sacrifice
she was going to do.

“I went — it’s the solemn truth; I give you
my word,” she says; “I went for a darn good
time.”

AND this was what she had: Ten months at
the front driving an ambulance for a first-
line hospital. The roads were dark and the
shell-holes deep. There were nights when more
shells fell like hail aroimd her. Then there was
the evacuation. There wasn’t time to eat. She
had to smoke instead. Five days and four
nights she worked without sleep. Then she
dropped exhausted on a mattress beside a
French captain. “I asked him if 1 could,” she
says.

In front of our steamer chairs the five little
French nuns went by in single file saying their
beads. They were White Sisters returning to
France to start schools in the devastated dis¬
tricts. Sometimes they took tea with us.

David often walked and talked with Sister
Jeanne. She could answer all his radiant
young enthusiasm about the new country he
was going to see over there. But at vesper¬
time like this the sisters walked alone against
the sunset, doing then - meditations with si¬
lently moving lips.

“They look like beautiful white swans in a
row,” said Betty whimsically.

Then she went on with her story.

"]UY NERVES,” she said, “don’t seem to
be right any more. There are nights and
nights I can’t sleep. The worst of all was
Chateau-Thierry. We had seventeen hundred
wounded and beds for five hundred.”

Betty, it seems, was needed for nursing.
She didn’t know how. But she walked up to
the first bed in a ward where were rows and
rows of anguish.

“For God’s sake,” a man said, “could you
give me a bath?” His right arm was gone and
his left hand was bandaged.

With her head tied up so the crawling things
wouldn’t get in her hair, Betty gave forty baths.

Then she came to Eddie Reagan. And she
stayed. Eddie Reagan had been a bartender.
He got a chance to work his way through col¬
lege. When the war broke he was junior half¬
back on the football team.

It had been a splendid physique that lay
there smashed to pieces. Both hands had been
blown off. The surgeons cut off a leg. There
were so many legs like that to do, they couldn’t
stop for anesthetics.

“We had a record rate of six minutes for
legs,” says Betty.

Betty passed the instruments.

“God, but that boy was great!” she says.
“He never even moaned!”

What was left of Eddie Reagan was put back
to bed. Betty stood by.

TT GOT to be three o’clock in the morning.

The patient had been delirious. Suddenly
he looked at her.

“Sadie, sweet!” he said. “Why, when did
you come? I’ve wanted you so. Kiss me, kid.
Kiss me quick!”

And Betty did. She knelt down and drew
the handsome head on her shoulder. With her
arms around him like that, Eddie Reagan of
Avenue A died for his country.

“Were there many men you saw die?” I
asked.

Betty struck a match to light another
cigaret. Above its flare there in the twilight
at sea flashed the tragic trench look. It’s the
gray, gone look of one who’s been beyond the
veil, and still sees far, far away from here.

“Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds,”
she said.

Some hadn’t any hands. She did for them
all that had to be done. And she loved them
at the last for the woman who wasn’t there.
And she led them right up to where God took
them.

She got the habit of doing for those in need.
After the armistice she went home to Fifty-
fourth Street. The Spring styles came out
and the tennis-courts were getting ready.
But she was restless and didn’t care.

“Soon I knew I couldn’t stay,” she said.
“There was real work to do in France. I had
to put on my uniform and come back for re¬
construction. ’ ’

“While I was home,” she added, “I saw
Sadie McSweeney. She’s some girl. She
works in a department-store at ten dollars a
week. Two of it she’s asked me to take for six
months for some one who needs it in
France.

“ ‘Eddie died to defend them. I can do
this,’ she says.”

JJETTY smoked in silence for a while. “God,”
she said, “Eddie Reagan was great!”

She smoked a little longer. “Sadie Mc¬
Sweeney, you know; Sadie JYIcSweeney’s some
girl.”

Now, where in the world before the war
would Betty have found that out?

Oh, I know it’s a terrible finishing-school in
which things are being taught. There are
girls who’ve gone mad. Some have died.
Betty’s going on living, but she’s given her
youth.

The society lady with the carmine lips and
the green eyes said softly one day :

“Still, she’ll cry again, I think. But it will
not be until she’s had a child—and lost it.”
The lady leaned to tie the large silk bow be¬
neath her own little daughter’s chin.

Yvonne, this little daughter of the rich,
would never let the nurse carry her off at
night for bed until David was found to take
her in his arms and kiss her. “My dear sailor
boy, my dear sailor boy,” she’d murmur with
her arms about his neck.

“Blest be the tie that binds.” David’s
sweet tenor was singing it on Simday morning
at the consecration service he was leading in
the gay-garlanded pink-satin salon.

No, Betty wasn’t there. She had sat long
in the smoking-room the night before. And
very late I heard her laugh on deck. All the
Y. W. C. A. girls and the Y. M. C. A. men
sang with David.

I wonder if they knew what they sang?

r pHERE was a plain little uniformed “Y”
girl from Green River, Maine. One day
she said to me cautiously of the society lady
with the carmine lips:

“I don’t care if she is divorced, as they say.
I think she’s just sweet.”

There was dancing that night in the pink-
satin salon where the praying had been.
Betty danced furiously—and the best of all.
Her graceful woolen legs with the short skirt
that came just above the curve in the stock¬
ings I can not forget. I wonder if David
can?

Dear David! He stood a little apart. But
there was the wistfulness of youth in his eyes
as he watched the scene — and the woolen
stockings.

“Well, David?” I said at last. He started.
“Do you know,” he answered slowly, “I
don’t believe it’s exactly sinful, after all. Only
I wish it wasn’t Sunday.”

Oh, David and Betty and Yvonne and little
girl from Green River, there’s a lot in life that’s
only clear on a “close-up.”

And where in the world before the war would
any of you have learned it?

^NNIE NORTHCUTT, back home in Mis¬
souri, I’m sure you’d like them all. Even
if Betty does smoke. She also drives an auto¬
mobile truck out in the devastated districts
where the railroads can’t yet run.

And you, Annie Northcutt, who read your
Bible, must understand there’s just one thing
going to give the Tree of Joy its best start in
the world. It’s what somebody in Deuter¬
onomy, or maybe it was in Ephesians, called
brotherly love.

Oh, I think we shall find God all right. I
know the roofs are gone from some of the cathe¬
drals. But why shut God up for Sundays?

Listen: Betty’s been so near God, she’s even
seen His face.

And the first time was the night that Eddie
Reagan died.

HOW TO REMIT

CONTRIBUTORS to the relief of devastated
France should send all remittances to the
French-Relief Editor, The Delineator Ser¬
vice Department, Butterick Building, New
York City. Checks and money-orders should
be made out to the French-Relief Editor.

SEND FOR THE BOOKLET

A^” ILLUSTRATED booklet with a full
account of the Town of the Golden Book,
and of Mrs. Daggett’s work of rehabilitation
in France, will be sent on receipt of a two-cent
stamp for postage. Address French-Relief
Editor, The Delineator Service Depart¬
ment, Butterick Building, New York City.

“TRAPS,” A GIRL CAUGHT IN AN ANIMAL
TRAP, SHORT STORY BY HENRY C. ROW¬
LAND; “DON’T TELL DAD,” STORY FOR
GIRLS AND PARENTS BY ALICE DYAR RUS¬
SELL; “THE WHEELER,” BY JUDGE SHUTE.
FASCINATING SHORT STORIES IN THE
SEPTEMBER DELINEATOR.

This Smart Footwear

Is Made without Feather

Hood Leisure Shoes conserve leather. They are
stylish and cool. Beautiful on the outside - com¬
fortable as a silk glove on the inside. Light as
thistledown upon the feet—yet they give surpass¬
ing wear.

Their price is surprisingly low—made possible by a
new and original process, which joins the canvas
uppers to the rubber sole in one continuous piece.

Whenever a summer day lures you- in die all-outdoors or in
the house, in simple dress or Frenchy frock. Hood Leisure
Shoes complete the toilette. They combine the latest fashion
with perfect fit, comfort with economy and beauty with
durability.

Hood Leisure Shoes are styled in high boots, pumps or
oxfords, with either French or Military heels. They are
moisture-proof and easily cleaned. They never lose their
shape. Try them.

to

the pair

Just ask your dealer

We to ill send you on request a be a utiful Hummer Style
Booklet describing these remarkable. Shoes. Write for it

HOOD RUBBER COMPANY
Watertown, Mass.

Classic Pump

Vassar Oxford

it

PAGE 32 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

Cleans Closet Bowls Without Scouring

Try Sani-Flush.

You’ll never go back to the old irksome
way of cleaning the closet-bowl.

Sani-Flush makes the work so easy—
and does it so much better.

All you have to do is to sprinkle a little
into the closet-bowl whenever necessary-
follow the directions on the can—then flush.

Stains of all kinds, even rust marks, dis¬
appear.

And the regular use of Sani-Flush keeps
the closet-bowl and trap clean.

THE HYGIENIC PRODUCTS CO.

815 Walnut Ave., Canton, Ohio
Canadian Agents: HAROLD F. RITCHIE & CO., Limited, Toronto

Ask y° ur dealer at once for
Sani-Flush. If he is unable
to supply you immediately,
send us 25c (stamps or coin )
for a full size can postpaid.
(Canadian price 35 cents;
foreign price 50 cents.)

SUNSHINE HOUSE

NUMBER TWO

BY MARY FANTON ROBERTS

N OW that the world is no longer afraid
of color, but eager for it in houses,
gardens and clothes, an infinite amount
of beauty can be secured for the least possible
amount of money.

Also it is well for us to realize that it is more
important to have a beautiful room than
what used to be called a rich or “refined”
room. I can remember how we used to strug¬
gle for brocades and tapestries and velvets
that seemed essential for the only kind of
room of which we could permit ourselves to
be proud.

All this is completely changed. The war
has brought simpler ideals, though the
tendency toward beautiful simplicity had set
in even before the war.

One of the most beautiful rooms that I
know hi New York, fitted with rarely beautiful
antique furniture, with Chinese cabinets and
old Venetian glass on the table, has for its por-

calicoes. They launder beautifully, aro sun¬
proof and exceedingly smart, with the advan¬
tage of being nearly always designed in lovely,
fresh colors.

The canopy for the bed was in plain rose.
This was delightful against the grayish tone of
the wall, and could be made of either gingham
or chintz. I think the gingham would be
smarter.

A delightful note is introduced in this room
in the purplish-blue cushions on the low
couch, winch, by the way, was made of an old,
very cheap single cot. If this shade of blue-
purple can not bo secured, emerald-green
would be lovely, or rose and black pillows
would be charming.

AS SUMMER is here, I suggest that the
Sunshine House should have at least a
few pieces of new willow either in the sitting-
room, to give it a summery effect, or out on the

FLOOR-PLAN OF SUNSHINE HOUSE NUMBER TWO, SHOWN ON PAGE 17

OF THIS ISSUE

tieres and window-curtains glazed English
chintz in wonderful sky blue, daffodil yellow
and black, and these curtains are hung at the
windows with sepai’ating bands of Chinese red.

XTEEDLESS to say, this room was planned
' by an artist, and it would have been one
of the most beautiful rooms imaginable even
without the Chinese cabinets, the antique
furniture or the Venetian glass, because it is
made wonderful by color.

You can make your own dining-room and
your own bedroom just as interesting if you
will study the new use of fabrics, and if you
let yourself use all the color you desire, as
Mr. Ilaggin did in his exquisite dining-room on
Madison Avenue.

T WISH you would turn back from this article
1 and look at the color page of the Sunsliino
House (page 17). Perhaps, first, I should
speak of the black rug. I have been warned
that black rugs show footprints. This is true
to a certain extent. I would not use a black
rug in a sitting-room where the door opened
from the porch, but if a vestibule is used, and
people come in with the dust wiped off their
shoes, a black rug is not difficult, and in a bed¬
room it is safe.

The value of the use of the black rug is
that it is a marvelous background for color,
and also you can take any old carpet and have
it dyed black when you are planning to do
over your room. I have seen the shabbiest
carpets made into the most interesting rugs.
Sometimes these black rugs will hold a sort
of shadowy design, but they always look fresh
and modern.

TN THE bedroom picture of Sunshine House
^ Number Two, old furniture was used, unin¬
teresting and shabby. It was brought down
by saw and hammer to a certain general low,
broad proportion, and then a bed of the
cheapest wood was made to order by a car¬
penter.

A lovely chintz in white and rose and green,
with a touch of black, was found for less than
fifty cents a yard, and was all put on by the
woman, whose husband had cut the furniture to
fit her ideal of a modern room. Not a cent
had been spent except for the frame of the
bed and the chintz.

Cushions for the bot toms of the chairs were
made from excelsior and held down on the
old wooden seats with bands of burlap. The
coarsest kind of cotton by the roll would do
even better than excelsior. You can not think
how fresh and lovely the furniture looked
over the black carpet.

'T'O AVOID monotony the low casement
^ windows were hung with rose-and-white
gingham, the rose just the color of the tone
in the chintz. And there are no more fash¬
ionable materials used for window draperies
to-day than the old-fashioned ginghams and

porch. There is nothing so clean and prac¬
tical and fresh-looking as willow.

A charming new fancy is to paint willow in
warm, bright colors, that add to the interest of
the room or the porch. This particular willow
is done in orange.

It is also interesting in blue, in pale yellow
and black, or, in fact, in any tone that carries
out the scheme of your house. Practical
women are doing over old willow in delightful
tones, green for the garden, orange for the
porch.

YOU have no idea how much can be ac-
A complished with paint and what very
interesting shades and tones of paint are now
being put on the market. I know a woman
on Long Island who made the most beautiful
living-porch for this Summer season.

She painted the floor black, the ceiling
corn-colored, some willow furniture orange,
the balustrades and posts gray, and then she
put emerald-green cushions about on the chairs
and couches.

This house is near the sea, and you can
imagine how delightful this color scheme will
be, whether the sea is blue or gray, or black
on stormy days. Here, as in the color
schemes I have been talking about in the
Sunshine House, it is always the question of
sunshiny, gay colors rather than expensive
materials.

There are also several pieces of painted
furniture shown this month. Such simple
models may be made by a carpenter of the
small town, and of the cheapest pine, and
painted black, with brilliant designs put on to
match the room where they are to be used.
Such furniture as this would be beautiful
in the hallway or would freshen a sitting-
room.

T WOULD never use a black carpet under

furniture painted black, as it might bring a
somber note into the room. Dull gray would
be interesting, or a dull Venetian red, or mixed
tones in rugs that harmonize with the design
used on the furniture.

I am especially interested in all the designs
printed this month because they can be se¬
cured easily—the painted furniture to bo
made in your town, if you wish; the chintz-
covered furniture to be made by yourself, and
the willow not too expensive, and lasting a
lifetime.

If you are interested in such a bedroom as I
have shown and want a different color
scheme, I wish that you would write to me, and
I would be delighted to help you plan it.
Write also if you want color schemes for any
other room in this Sunshine House.

The Delineator wants to help you in
every possible way. Further information
about the floor-plans for this particular house
may be had by writing to the Sunshine-House
Editor, The Delineator Service Depart¬
ment, Butterick Building, New York City.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 33

A more beautiful and up-to-date piece of par¬
lor or living room furniture than the Kroehler
Daven-O can hardly be conceived. Nor one
more convenient or useful.

Unlike the ordinary davenport the Kroehler
Daven-O unfolds — by one easy, well balanced
motion it may be converted into a full size bed.
Sanitary, and luxuriously comfortable. Adds
to the attractiveness of the home, materially
enlarges the sleeping accommodations.

Go to your enterprising furniture dealer at
once and see a demonstration of a Kroehler
Daven-O.

Every Kroehler Daven-O is equipped with a
(patented) folding metal bed frame and sag¬
less spring. Has a Kroehler made 35-lb.
felted cotton, removable mattress — high grade,
dependable in every way, see label.

The Kroehler Daven-O comes in two sizes—
long, for large rooms; short, for small rooms.
Either contains a full size bed.

A splendid variety of Modern Overstuffed,
Colonial and Period styles, luxuriously up¬
holstered in richest Tapestries, Velours, Leath¬
er or Leather Substitute. All woods—all fin¬
ishes—but one high standard of quality, fully
guaranteed.

Ample room for pillows, extra coverings, etc.,
in folded bed. Folds and unfolds easily.

To insure maximum satisfaction, be sure be¬
fore buying to find the Kroehler trade mark ,
the sign of the genuine.

Handsome illustrated booklet and name of
nearest dealer in your town mailed upon
request.

KROEHLER MANUFACTURING COMPANY, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Canadian Factory: Stratford, Ontario _ Other Factories: Kankakee, Ill. Naperville, Ill. Binghamton, N. Y. Cleveland, Ohio

PAGE 34

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

Haw to Win Him to
Whole Wheat

Serve Him Bubble Grains, Crisp, Flavory,
Toasted, Puffed to 8 Times Normal Size

You want to do that — all you mothers. You want your
children to eat whole wheat.

Then make whole wheat as attractive as cookies and
doughnuts are. Make it a food confection.

Prof. Anderson Has Done That

Puffed Wheat is Prof. Anderson’s way of making whole
wheat enticing.

He seals the grains in guns, then applies an hour of fearful
heat. Then shoots the guns, and all the wheat’s moisture-
turned to steam—explodes. He causes in each kernel more
than 100 million explosions.

The grains come out thin, airy and gigantic. The walls
are flimsy, the texture is like snowflakes. The taste is
fascinating.

But the great fact is that every atom feeds. Every food
cell, being blasted, is fitted for digestion. Thus one gets
the full nutrition of whole wheat.

For the joy of it and the good of it, serve Puffed Wheat
in milk every day.

Puffed Wheat Puffed Rice

and Corn Puffs

All Steam Exploded—Each 15c Except in Far West

Delightful Ways to Serve

Any Puffed Grain with cream and sugar forms a witching morning
dish. But mix them with your berries, too. Float them in every
bowl of milk. Use as w r afers in your soups.

Use Puffed Rice or Coin Puffs as a garnish on ice cream. Use
them like nut meats in home candy making. Crisp and lightly butter
for hungry children to eat like peanuts when at play.

Blend with Berries

They add to berries what crust
adds to a shortcake or to pie.

The Quaker Oats Company

Sole Makers 3162

Like Bubbled Nuts

Toasted and flavory, thin and
airy, ready to crush at a touch.

Continued from page 2 1

VANITY’S SYMBOL

turbed but were allowed to grow to maturity.
But when the world of fashion set up a real
clamor for pearls, the owners of the pearl
fisheries—of which, by the way, there has not
been a single new one discovered in more
than fifty years —were no longer willing
to let nature quietly take its course. Neither
were they willing to forego present personal
gain in the interest of posterity. They
took the attitude that, so far as they and
pearls were concerned, posterity could go
hang. They desired to get as many pearls to
market as possible by the swiftest methods
at their disposal.

CO THEY brought up oysters, both large and
small, and many of the more timid oysters
that were not harvested were driven away from
the beds by the grappling-apparatus. Hence the
production of pearls of any appreciable size has
well-nigh ceased. Just as one may not eat one's
cake and have it, or pick the blossom and also
the ripened fruit, so it is with oysters and their
pearls. When you arouse the oyster from its
bed and snatch away its little pearl, obviously
you destroy all chance of that pearl growing to
any size and making a big success later in fife.

For five years prior to the European war the
total production of pearls in the entire world
was in the neighborhood of ten million dollars
a year. As this was estimated not on quan¬
tity but on money value, the production in the
last of the five years probably was not more
than half that of the first year — for during the
five years pearls had advanced in value fully
one hundred per cent.

Being unable to depend longer on nature
for a supply of pearls equal to the demand,
we have turned during the last ten or fifteen
years to the store of pearls previously
hoarded by the Orientals. But now this, too,
is practically exhausted. Accordingly, if we
want a fine pearl, we must proceed about as we
would if we desired a fine Rembrandt painting,
or any other article for which the demand is
great and the supply limited. That is, we
must go to the man who has such an article
and offer him so much money that he will be
induced to part with it, even though he knows
that it can not be replaced. That is thd ex¬
planation of the vast increase in the price of
pearls in the last twenty or thirty years.
Many of them have risen one thousand per
cent, in value, some as much as three thou¬
sand per cent.

UVERY new crop of fortune-makers adds to
the demand for fine pearls. When a man has
suddenly acquired several million dollars, his
wealth is of scant satisfaction to him unless he
can let others know that he has it. He desires
to have some visible symbol or semaphore to
indicate his financial prowess, just as the In¬
dian warrior wears scalps in his belt. Being of
too practical a turn of mind to wish to dress
with conspicuous extravagance himself, the
new multimillionaire wears his emblem of
wealth by proxy; that is, through the medium
of his wife. She is ordinarily quite willing to
give him hearty cooperation.

There is a tremendous effort just now to ac¬
quire pearls of the best quality, almost with¬
out regard to price, on the part of Americans
who achieved the multimillionaire class dur¬
ing the war. For patriotic reasons it was re¬
garded as bad form to spend money foolishly
or wastefully while great sums were needed for
Liberty Bonds and war charities; but now
those who have been eager to exhibit their
newly acquired financial status can restrain
themselves no longer. It therefore seems alto¬
gether probable that in the course of the next
year the price of pearls will reach the highest
peak ever known.

EVEN aside from the important item of hu-
■ L ~‘ man vanity, the value of a pearl—the value
based on the quality—is more mental than
physical. That is, the quality or beauty is less
in the pearl than in the mind of the buyer.

Beauty in a pearl, as in anything else, is rel¬
ative. The color that was considered the
most desirable a few years ago is not the most
valuable to-day.

At one time the pearl of snowy whiteness
was the most sought after. But when women
of Semitic extraction in the United States
began to take an interest in pearl neckpieces it
was found that whitd pearls did not look so
attractive against their darker skin as the
necklaces with a little more color. And so it
came about that the pearls with a suggestion
of delicate pink became the most highly prized
of all.

Another distinct type of pearl, though
slightly less valuable than the pure white, is
that containing a faint shade between yellow
and orange. No one knows when some slight
fashionable whimsicality may make the yel¬
lowish pearl more valuable than the pink, or
the pure white once more the most valued of
the three.

On the physical side the value of a necklace
depends not only upon the color and perfec¬
tion of the individual pearls, but on the pre¬
cision with which they are matched as to color
and size.

WHEN a number of larger pearls are fea-
v v tured, there must be intermediate sizes to
grade down to the smaller ones, and it is often
extremely difficult to have the sizes properly
blended while also obtaining near-perfect
conformation and exactly the same shading of
color. Sometimes a dealer must search the
world over before he finds the one or two
pearls he needs to complete a necklace.

The value of pearls is so largely mental,
however, that not infrequently it depends
largely on the chance state of mind of the man
who appraises them. The sum might vary
many thousands of dollars, according to what
the buyer had for breakfast.

This sounds like idle talk, but I know of an
instance in which a famous New York im¬
porter had attended a gloomy theatrical piece
one night and the following morning ate what
he afterward declared was too hearty a meal
of buckwheat cakes and sausage. When he

got to his place of business, the value of the
useless articles seemed smaller to him than
they would have under more auspicious cir¬
cumstances. He accordingly agreed to sell a
certain necklace for eighteen thousand dollars
less than he would have accepted a day or two
previous.

The same dealer has had similar experiences
in buying pearls in the European markets.
When he is in a comfortable frame of mind, or
jazzed up a bit by good music, the color of a
pearl looks different to him from what it does
if he happens to be worried or depressed.

The supremacy of the pearl in fashionable
favor has had the effect of making too lavish a
display of diamonds no longer considered good
form. I am assured by those who aim to keep
abreast with the dictates of fashion that a dia¬
mond necklace is distinctly not the thing.

Pearls have become so much more expen¬
sive than diamonds and are regarded as so
much more delicate and refined in appearance
that one may no longer wear a diamond dog-
collar or necklace a.nd be socially proper. On
the contrary, a diamond necklace would ap¬
proximate downright vulgarity.

My impression is that jewelers who seek the
trade of the really fashionable folk no longer
even offer diamond necklaces for sale. When
they take one in trade for pearls, as they occa¬
sionally do, they immediately cut it up and sell
the stones separately.

UOWEVER, this condition has in no sense
hurt the commercial value of diamonds,
which have mounted steadily in price and
doubtless will continue to do so. For where
there is one person who ceases to wear dia¬
monds on the theory that such glittering dis¬
play of wealth is in bad taste, there are a
hundred persons who have just reached the
diamond-buying stage of opulence, but are not
yet up to their pearl period.

For instance, the lower East Side of New
York is a tremendous market for diamonds.

In a sense, the diamond has ceased to be a
luxury and become a necessity. This sounds
like a strange statement imtil one pauses to
consider the number of young couples who fall
in love each year.

Scarcely one of these would regard the en¬
gagement as regular unless the troth were
pledged with a solitaire diamond ring. The
number of diamonds bought every year for en¬
gagement rings alone is sufficient to keep these
stOMes high-priced.

The question is often raised about how suc¬
cessfully a high-priced gem like the pearl may
be imitated. I believe I am safe in saying
that, no matter how clever, the imitation can
not deceive one who really knows pearls.

The story is told of Ludwig Nissen, of New
York, famous pearl authority, that at a big
ball one night a woman sitting near him in a
box spoke admiringly of the pearl necklace
worn by a fashionably attired woman on the
dance-floor.

“Yes,” commented Nissen; “they look
very pretty, but they’re only paste.”

“Oh, really now,” objected the woman who
had admired the pearls, “you mustn’t try to
make me believe that you could tell at a dis¬
tance of twenty feet whether they are real or
imitation. I’ll admit that you’re doubtless a
good judge of pearls, but nobody could do
that.”

WELL, they joked about this, and then the
incident was dropped. An hour or two
later, after the woman with the necklace had
been dancing rather vigorously for a time, and
her shoulders became warmed by her exertions,
Nissen chanced to notice her.

And oh, how distressing her plight! The
pearls in her valuable-looking necklace were
indeed paste, for the paraffin, or whatever it
was, had suddenly ceased to jell and was
streaming smearily down over her perspiring
shoulders and back. Moreover, a number of
the empty glass beads had broken and left the
string half bare.

An unfortunate feature about genuine pearls
is that their beauty would be impaired if too
large a hole were bored in them for the purpose
of stringing them together. This hole must be
so small that only a silken thread may be
passed through it. A wire of the same size
would be so small and fragile that it would be
more easily broken than the thread.

Hence the possessor of the cheapest imita¬
tion-pearl necklace available may have the
same kind of a silk thread to hold it together
that would be found in one costing a million
dollars.

T F THE proprietress of a million-dollar neck¬
lace elects to wear it to the opera, she does so
knowing that the snapping of the silk thread
through a minor mishap would spill the little
pill-like gems, worth a fortune each, all over
the floor, causing much excitement and no end
of uneasiness to the owner. I frequently sob
myself to sleep thinking what tough luck it
w'ould be if the owner of a million-dollar neck¬
lace were to spill two or three of the pearls down
a crack in a theater.

Most of the best pearls come from the Indian
Ocean. Fisheries have been developed also in
the Philippines, on the coast of Australia, in
the Gulf of Panama, along the shores of Cen¬
tral America and Venezuela, and in the Gulf of
California.

It should be understood that the pearl-oys¬
ters are not the same type of oysters that one
meets in restaurants. The professional pearl-
oysters are so large that one could be carved
and served to a good-sized dinner-party.

Except for the item of size, however, they
look and behave about like any other oyster.
Quiet, unemotional, conservative, almost re¬
actionary, and of a retiring disposition, an
oyster is an oyster wherever you find it, re¬
gardless of size or occupation. Any oyster
may produce a pearl now and then, but it is
only the so-called Oriental varieties whose
pearls are of immense value.

Many pearls come from ordinary fresh-water
mussels, such as those of us who were raised in
Concluded on page 36

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 35

Note how the lines of the grow¬
ing foot correspond to the lines oj
the hand. Both are graceful — even
the bones and muscles are similar.
Naturenever intended either one to
be twisted or tortured out of shape.

^flatures fines of Qrace

Each Brown Shaping Last
provides proper and natural
support for each bone and mus¬
cle of the foot, while permitting
perfect freedom of action—-thus
insuring correct foot develop¬
ment.

Children’s feet are naturally graceful. Keep them so—with correctly
shaped shoes, that conform to Nature’s lines of grace and beauty.

The pliable bones and tender muscles of the growing feet are easily
forced out of place by wrongly shaped shoes—which cause corns, bunions,
twisted bones, broken arches and weak ankj.es.

Buster Brown Shoes are correctly shaped for every size and age—for
they are made upon Brown Shaping Lasts—the lasts that provide for the
development of the growing feet at every point and from size to size, in
Nature’s own way.

Buster Brown Shoes bring the feet to maturity free from annoying foot
troubles—strong and shapely—graceful and flexible—fit for life’s work.

Because they fit properly, and are so well made from durable leathers,
Buster Brown Shoes outwear ordinary shoes. It will pay you to buy them
—from the standpoint of both health and economy.

Buster Brown Shoes are made in all styles and leathers—high and low
cut—button, lace and blucher—and are sold by good stores everywhere at
$3.00, $4.00, $5.00, and up, according to size and style.

Write today for a free copy of “Training the Growing Feet”—the book
that explains why health depends so greatly upon the shoes worn during
childhood. It also tells how to select shoes which contribute to health.

Brown Shoe Company, St. Louis, U. S. A.

Manufacturers of White House Shoes for Men, Maxine Shoes for Women,

Buster Brown Shoes for Boys and Girls, and Blue Ribbon Service Shoes.

i

I

k For Girls

USTER

PAGE 36 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

10c

and

25c

a cake

Bouquet
of tfe Batfi

When you wash with a cake of
Cashmere Bouquet Soap it gives
out a subtle spirit of flower4ike
perfume.

And such luxuriant, cleansing lath"
er! Perhaps your own grandmother
was among those particular women
of three generations ago who, like
those of today, regard this Colgate
Soap as an added delight to bathing.

COLGATE'S

CASHMERE BOUQUET
TOILET SOAP

A dainty way to show esteem for
a visiting friend is to have a cake
of Cashmere Bouquet in the guest"
room. More than likely it will be
recognised as an old acquaintance
whose refinement lends further
thoughtfulness to cordial welcome.

So pure, it safely cleanses baby’s
skin; so soundly made, it wears
down to tissuedike thinness after
long use-—real economy, combined
with cleanliness and refreshing
comfort, and exquisitely perfumed.

When you next go shopping, order
Cashmere Bouquet Toilet Soap.

Tou have a choice of two sizes.

Colgate & Co. (Established 1806) New York City

If?' \

Concluded from page 15

THE GENTLE GUARDIAN

went to school with the two elder daughters
of the premier, and became a friend of the
family; after that she became the teacher of
Miss Megan Lloyd George.

During her brief teaching Miss Stevenson
became interested in secretarial work. Mr.
Lloyd George knew of her ambition, and he
trusted her powers.

He tried her out, during her holiday seasons,
in research work. When he needed informa¬
tion for this and that speech or article, she got
the data. Because her first love was the
classics, because so much of her interest and
imagination fastened upon the past, her inter¬
est in politics, when she first began working
under Mr. Lloyd George, was only moderate.

But the more closely she became identified
with his affairs the keener grew her grasp. The
great issues, the great personalities, became in¬
creasingly vivid, because she had more or less
to deal with them herself.

From doing research work for Mr. Lloyd
George she began to answer some of his letters,
and then she took full charge of his correspon¬
dence. From that she rose to the highest re¬
sponsibility—making his appointments, inter¬
viewing people who wish to see him. In other
words, she is the chief personal secretary of the
great man of England.

JT IS a stupendous task for one slight girl. She

lias under her a large staff of clerks and typ¬
ists, and yet to none of them can she trust fully
the vital matter of the general correspondence,
the still more vital matter of interviewing the
picked number of petitioners to see Mr. Lloyd
George, from among whom she must choose
those whose claims are just and imperative.

Miss Stevenson’s placid brow frowned a
trifle when she spoke of the premier’s corre¬
spondence. She said that the letters dealt
with all sorts of subjects; that people seemed to
think they could write to him about anything.

And then the callers! Again there was a
shadow on that pretty forehead. For of the
many people who want to see Mr. Lloyd
George, so few can.

The people who work under her, the sub¬
secretaries, admire her for many reasons, but
chiefly because she is so keen at summing up
people from the point of view of their value to
the premier. She reads them unerringly. It is
said that she has never yet blundered, never
yet wasted his time by letting the wrong person
intrude upon him.

“It’s a very worrying life,” Miss Stevenson
said; “overwhelming. The hours are so long:
from ten in the morning sometimes till eight at
night, and often on Sundays, too. But it is
very interesting, and so varied!”

I quote this remark from Miss Stevenson
(though this is an article and not an interview)
because as she spoke her face and voice made
such an absorbing study. There was the
anxiety of the experienced secretary to do her
heavy work thoroughly; and there her sense of
responsibility made her old. There was the
zest of the youngest youth in the sense of
change, of variety that each day offered.

There was a maternal care for the premier,
who must be protected at all costs; a sort of
rubbers-and-mulfler attitude. And there was,
too, the admiring awe of the disciple; the rev¬
erence this worker feels for the great man who
has bestowed on her so much of his confidence.

A ND this confidence is abundantly justified.

For no one could, even in the slightest,
shake or distort her loyalty to the premier's
best interests. No one, even indirectly, could
taint her purity of motive.

1 think not even the boldest petitioner would
dare attempt it. She would feel the most in¬
sidious approach, and she would retreat be¬
hind her invincible barriers of reserve; behind
her indirection, behind that refinement of
spirit that forbids a blot or stain. She would
be safe from the intrusion of anything ignoble
or oven egoistic.

For hers is a rare and fortunate tempera¬
ment. She has the keen brain that can go out
hi the arena of affairs and battle with ideas
and institutions and parties, coming back
stronger for the fray. And she has also the
sensitive hermit-like soul, that lives in serene,
silent places, and is no doubt her real source of
strength.

So I read her, and of this I am quite sure: she
does not at all realize what a wonderful person
she is, chiefly because it is Mr. Lloyd George
she thinks of, and never of herself ; except per¬
haps as a sort of a protecting shield to him.

For all that she is so busy, so absorbed in the
premier’s affairs, Miss Stevenson has many
interests outside her work. For one thing,
since her school-days she has been interested in
woman suffrage, though she was never an ex¬
tremist.

Her friends used to tease her about her atti¬
tude because she felt obliged to stand up even
for the extreme ones. And she still does, to
the extent of pointing out how well they be¬
haved when the war began, and how much
they have helped.

This attitude shows, about as well as any in¬
stance could, how loyal Miss Stevenson is to
her own sex; and how generous she is in seeing
both sides of the question.

TN THOSE far-off days before the war,

when she had time, Miss Stevenson used
to read a good deal. She likes poetry, Swin¬
burne and Keats and Shelley — the ones, you
perceive, who mean music and exaltation.
When she was little, she used to like Scott; the
epic instinct here.

But she says that to her nothing comes up to
Homer and the old poets. This helps to prove
that once a classicist always a classicist.

As to fiction, Miss Stevenson does not care
at all for historical novels (“Mr. Lloyd George
loves them; and stories of adventure”). What
she likes is fiction that deals with the psycho¬
logical aspect of life; with character rather
than plot.

For example, the work of Stephen McKenna
and Compton MacKenzie. Arnold Bennett,
she thinks, goes too much into detail. John
Galsworthy she admires, only she thinks he is
rather depressing. But Wells she loves with¬
out qualification.

J GOT the impression that Miss Stevenson

had not gone very deeply into matters Ameri¬
can, but that so far as she had gone she thinks
well of us. She applauds the chances our
women workers have and hopes these will in¬
crease during the after-war period.

She spoke with admiration of our soldiers
and of the part they had taken in the war.
And yet — and yet, 1 do not think any one of
our allies fails to remember that we came in
late. They know that it was our coming that
won the war, but they know, and we are the
last to minimize the fact, that it was their own
soldiers who bore the worst of the suffering.

Miss Stevenson spoke very highly of our
Y. M. C. A. work, of which there is such a
shining example in Eagle Hut in London. She
said that she had never heard a word of criti¬
cism against it.

The recollection of that remark has been
cheering to me. For with five divisions, and in
four sectors, and in all three American drives, I
saw admirable examples of our Y. M. C. A.
work, and was appalled when I returned home
to hear of the wave of unjust criticism that had
risen against us.

Not that Ave had not failed in some particu¬
lars; like the army, and like every other insti¬
tution during the war. But our work in the
main has succeeded well. All this is being in¬
creasingly testified to as time goes on.

LIOW Miss Stevenson does worship Mr.

Lloyd George! The gloAving torch of enthu¬
siasm that lighted her face when she talked of
her classics or of woman suffrage flamed into
a veritable beacon when she spoke of that
great man who might have said of his life,
“Alone I did it,” but avIio never has said that:
the great man, the apotheosis of democracy,
avIio is the best hope to-day of troubled
England.

Mr. Lloyd George is fortunate, it is said, in
most of those who work for him, but in no one
more than in this gentle guardian, this delicate
shield and buckler, his personal secretary.
And the Englishwomen who are trying to
branch forth into careers more wide, more
hopeful, are fortunate in having as one of their
pioneers this girl with the gentle heart, the
luminous, far-reaching spirit, the strong
brain.

Concluded from page 34

VANITY’S SYMBOL

the Middle West have found hi the rivers and
small streams hundreds of times. These fresh¬
water pearls are much more valuable than is
generally supposed.

For years, however, their value was greatly
discounted by their name and origin. It was
necessary to sell them under the guise of Ori¬
ental pearls. Gradually, however, fresh-water
pearls have gained the recognition they were
seeking and have attained their proper eco¬
nomic standing.

American fresh-water pearls of high quality
are found in the Mississippi River drainage and
in the streams tributary to the Great Lakes.
To no one State, nor to any one species of mus¬
sel, can we give special mention or exceptional
prominence in the continuous production of
good pearls.

Wisconsin, Illinois, Arkansas and Ohio have
yielded products of substantial value, and
many good pearls have been found also in the
streams of Tennessee, Kentucky, Texas and
Michigan. Roughly speaking, there are four
classifications of American pearls: true pearls,
baroques, slugs and “chicken-feed.”

A number of years ago a young Japanese
student attending Johns Hopkins University
at Baltimore became interested in the study of
pearls and began to conduct experiments for
the artificial stimulation of pearl-growing oys¬
ters. His idea was to devise means to befool
a lot of oysters into thinking they were being

irritated by particles of foreign matter inside
their shells.

By this little practical joke on the oysters he
hoped to persuade them to turn out pearls by
the million dollars’ worth while he sat around
and waited on them. This kind of pearl-grow¬
ing is now being carried on in Japan. But it is
doubtful if it has succeeded thus far on a large
enough scale to be of great commercial sig¬
nificance.

Even if it Avere possible to grow a million
pearls a year by artificial means, they would
not be throAvn on the market, because to do so
would make them too common and force down
the price.

JF PEARLS should ever become really com¬
mon, nobody would exchange street-car faro
for them. Hence it is not a strange fact that a
big pearl-fishing enterprise might be able to get
more for ten thousand pearls than it could for
one hundred thousand of exactly the same
kind.

Though a pearl necklace may be dissolved in
vinegar, alcohol does not affect it. Unlike tho
diamond and many other precious gems, the
pearl is not brittle and is not easily broken or
chipped.

One might hurl a pearl against a hard pave¬
ment without much danger of damage, except
the possible scratching of its smooth, lustrous
surface.

THE DELINEATOR TOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 37

k

*

Y OU used to watch your sweater get soiled,
with a wry smile. What could you do to
bring it back to life? There was the laun¬
dress. But she would ruin it the very first time
she washed it. The cleaner’s? That way seemed
such an inexcusable expense.

But now. You can wash your sweater your¬
self — in rich Lux suds—and it won’t shrink! Won’t
lose its shape! Will come out just as soft and
shapely as the day you bought it.

Sweaters should never be rubbed. Wool fibre is
the most sensitive fibre there is. When you twist
wool or rub it, it becomes stiff, matted and
shrunken. You simply
don’t dare trust it to
ordinary soap.

But Lux comes in pure
delicate flakes that

dissolve instantly in hot water. In a moment you
whisk them up into a rich foamy lather.

With Lux, there is not a tiny particle of solid
soap to stick to the soft woolen and injure it. Not
a bit of rubbing to mat and shrink the delicate
fibres. You simply dip your sweater up and down
in the rich Lux lather—squeeze the suds through
the soiled parts—and take it out again so soft and
fresh and fluffy you can’t believe it has been
washed.

Wash your sweater this year the gentle
Lux way. Have it stay new all summer long.
Lux won’t hurt anything pure water alone

won’t injure. Your
grocer, druggist or de¬
partment store has Lux.
Lever Bros. Co., Cam¬
bridge, Mass.

USE LUX FOR ALL THESE

Laces

Crepes de Chine
Mulls
Chiffons
Georgettes

Washable Taffeta
Washable Satin
Organdies
Dimities
Voiles

Silk Stockings
Silk Underthings
Baby’s Flannels
Damasks
Blankets, etc.

No suds so wonderful as Lux for dainty things

TO WASH COLORED SWEATERS

Whisk Lux into a rich lather in very hot water
—two tablespoonfuls to the gallon. Add cold
water to make the suds lukewarm. Swish your
sweater about in the suds. Wash quickly,
pressing the suds through the sweater, but do
not rub. Rinse three times in lukewarm water.
Dissolve a little Lux in the last rinsing toleave
your sweater soft and woolly. Never wring
sweaters. Squeeze the water out, and spread
on a towel to dry in the shade.

IF YOU ARE NOT SURE
A COLOR IS FAST

Lux won’t cause any color to run which
pure water alone will not cause to run.

If you are not sure a color is fast, first wash a
sample and dry it. If the color runs, try to set
it in the following way, first testing a bit of the
fabric: A half cup full of vinegar to a gallon of
cold water may be used to set most colors of
sweaters. Soak the article, then rinse thor¬
oughly before washing it. After washing, add
vinegar to the last rinsing to hold the color.
Always wash colors as quickly as possible.

PAGE 38 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

Morris Supreme boiled ham

tastes so good you’ll be eager
to try some of the many other
Morris foods that bear this
same flavor- mark — Supreme.

MORRIS & COMPANY

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 39

Com in ued from page 11

THE VERY BEST MAN

matter for verification. Suppose Dicky
waited-

Dicky disclaimed any intention of waiting,
or any remoteness of intention of substantia¬
ting Miss Christy’s statements. His manner
was of the indignant cleric asked to substanti¬
ate the Immaculate Conception. Roundly
and hotly he lumped Mrs. Bcnning and Mal-
loch together as ghouls and traducers, and he
added, with more heat, that it wouldn't mat¬
ter a coal in hell if the thing were true — the
only thing that mattered was that Miss Christy
was engaged to him.

Flame caught from flame.

“And why is she engaged?” demanded Mal-
loch. “Is she in love with you, Dick? Look
at to-night — look at lots of to-nights. Oh,
I’ve heard you over the telephone being put
off; I’ve had to listen to you about a girl’s ’dif¬
ference’ and coldness — I tell you you’re rush¬
ing ahead with your eyes shut.

“Wait a bit. Make sure she cares. Make
sure she isn’t playing you for a sucker, wouldn’t
throw you over, like that other poor fish, if the
oil gave out. You don’t want to buy a
wife -”

It would have been easier if Dick had as¬
saulted him. He would have preferred the
youngster’s most vicious uppercut to that
freezing withdrawal which shut him forever
from Dick’s world and Dick’s affairs.

“Since you’re known as bost man you can
go on with it,” was Dick’s final statement.
“I sha’n’t let her know, you'd better believe.
And we won’t talk of it — or anything else —
again. You keep to your room and I to
mine.”

UUT Malloch did not keep to his room. He
took to the hills instead, those silent
friends of stern counsel. Up in the little shack
on the slope of old Horizon he stared out into
the mists and stars and beat his brain, not for
consolation, but for an expedient.

Was there nothing to be done? Nothing
b\it grin and bear it — and watch Dicky's life
go to pieces?

Nothing to do? There must be everything
to dol If it had been any other sort of scrape,
financial, political, he would have moved
heaven and earth to save Dicky Ransome. He
would have gone any lengths; but now, be¬
cause it was a woman -

Men were puppets in sex. They let pro¬
pinquity and fascination work their hazardous
will. They let a chance flame, a few weeks’
bonfire of red hair and sparkling eyes, con¬
sume unnumbered years.

And the bystanders, whose wits were unim¬
paired and unignited, stood idly by, without
lifting a hand. They wouldn’t have let him
drown. They would have risked then' necks
getting him out of a burning house. But his
marriage -

Nobody, now, used force to prevent a
marriage.

It was too desperate a remedy — and yet the
matter was desperate. Dicky was mad and
should be treated like a madman. Viewed in
that light, prevention was simple sanity.

And the scheme that Malloch contemplated
had worked once — in Kipling. Malloch leaned
rather heavily upon that author’s observation.
There was no reason, he felt, why it should
not work again.

The scheme involved some consideration.
It involved a hasty messenger and furtive con¬
sultation, just out of town, with a slant-eyed,
fiat-faced individual in disreputable clothes.
It involved many purchases and a hasty trip.

It involved getting Dicky out in a motor¬
car the day of the wedding. And that was no
easy thing.

j\JOT that Dicky preserved any glacial bar-
1 ' rier against his old chum. There was no
ice or iron in Dicky’s nature; he wanted hon¬
estly to forget Malloch’s hideous mistake, but
of course he could not go to Malloch with his
happiness, nor include him in plans for the
future, and so the constraint was there.

The self-consciousness between them made
him all the readier to accede to that suggestion
of a final spin, lest Malloch should think him
averse, but the hard tiling was squeezing in the
time amid all the exigencies of the hurried
day.

He pledged the late forenoon and then spent
it at his desk, inditing a tremendously long and
final epistle. Malloch suspected that it was
the swan-song East, and he noted hopefully
Dicky’s chastened and silent air when at last,
after luncheon, he bore him off.

“Not too far — there’s that packing,” Dicky
warned nervously as the bridge shot under
them and the mountains rose like sentinels.

“The last ride together,” said Malloch
grimly.

He looked at the dial. Half an hour to go;
half an hour to return. Another half-hour for
allowance there. Three-thirty, that would be.

Well, that was time enough. Time to tell
her, time to tell everybody.

He grinned to think of the workers at the
church. For it was to be a church wedding,
after all, though a so-called simple one, with a
slight reception at the country club, ostensibly
given by the Greeleys.

Ample time.

r "THE car stopped. Malloch fussed a mo¬
ment, then climbed into the back seat for
something. Dicky bent over the levers.

The next instant something dark and stifling
and confining descended over Dicky’s head. A
stout sack, pulled well down, is a bad handicap
in any struggle, especially against a warily pre¬
pared antagonist. Dicky fought gamely, but
three minutes saw him trussed and helpless
and laid tenderly upon his back upon the floor
of the car.

And then Malloch drove. He took the up¬
per disused valley road, and he took it at
thirty and forty miles an hour, including
curves.

The muffled outcries and anathemas from
the back vied with the clatter and crash of the
parts, but exhaustion prevailed upon frenzy,
and at length only an inarticulate oath or two,

following an unusual bounce, reached Mal¬
loch’s ear.

Not a creaturo passed them. On the oppo¬
site road of the valley Malloch could see fleet¬
ing specks of motors, and once he glimpsed,
over the edge, the tops of cars on the lower
road, but up there, on that washed-out mule-
road, he was alone with fate.

Abandoned diggings and deserted shacks told
their story of solitude, and no vestige of life
greeted them until they paused at the junction
of a narrow gulch and sounded the horn.

CILENTLY out of the bushes rose the
slant-eyed individual of the mysterious
conferences; and, sharing their burden, they
bore it to the stout cedar enclosure of a small
cabin. And then, to the interruption of
blasphemy from the sack, Malloch delivered
his explanation and his ultimatum.

He prayed, he exhorted, he entreated, he
commanded. Then, stooping swiftly, he cut a
knot, and fled behind the door which the
Chinaman barred.

In the lean-to he paused with his conspirator.

“You understand. Wee Lung-”

“Sure. Understand.” Wee Lung smiled
amiably. “Plenty food go in that hole—
plenty letter you leave—plenty thing to read.
No knife. No matchee. Sure, understand.”

“And you aren’t afraid if he-”

Malloch paused before the other’s reassur¬
ing grin.

“Sure. Me plenty afraid,” said Wee Lung
humorously. “Don’t worry. You come back,
him same you leave him.”

Malloch knew his Wee Lung He did not
worry—not about him.

But as to his poor Dicky, well, he had left
him all the other girl's letters—and that last
epistle to her, saved from the mail. With soli¬
tude and reflection and time and Dicky’s pli¬
able humors-

He tramped back to the car and started on
the return. It was after ten miles and imme¬
diately after a corduroy bridge that Nature
revolted. Something snapped.

’"THIRTY minutes convinced him that it was
1 a definite break. Thirty more exhausted
the resource's of the region for substitutes.
And it was four o’clock and he was twenty-five
miles from town.

No hope of succor on that road. Swiftly he
struck down, over the ledge, to the one below.
It did not take long to assure himself that he
had chosen an unfavorable spot for the descent,
but ho got there ultimately and strode on.

Nobody else, it appeared, was traveling.
He had the road and the valley and the beau¬
tiful oncoming evening all to himself.

By six o’clock he felt sure ho had covered
eight of the twenty-five miles. At six-fifteen
a car passed going the other way and refused
to stop.

At six-thirty a creaking chariot overtook and
conveyed him. At seven the alleged automo¬
bile stopped. At seven-thirty it consented to
continue.

At eight-fifteen a wild-eyed young man, who
had mistakenly overestimated his ability to
play Providence, was deposited at the rear of
St. Martin’s Church. The wedding was for
eight.

Motors lined the curb; late arrivals were
whisking in the opened doors; heads were out¬
lined against the lighted windows; and over the
murmur of soimd pealed the organ’s patient
roff.

Had no one found out that they were ab¬
sent? Had no one waited—delayed? Was
the bridal party here? The clergyman? He
was the one to find, to stop things!

MaHoch darted in the private entrance, and
was perceived by a pop-eyed youth who waved
an excited white-gloved hand at him and dis¬
appeared like a jack-in-the-box.

MaHoch jerked open a door into an empty
study; he tossed off his coat and passed a dis¬
tracted hand across his rumpled hair. Then
he strode on.

He opened another door. He was looking
into the church. A janitor sort of person was
sharing the privilege with him, and together
they peered into the blaze of light and color
and bedecked human beings.

The elderly clergyman, in full robes, his
book opened, was standing before the flower-
banked altar, facing the assembly.

]VT ALLOCH had an insane idea that he must
get to him at once, and give him some
message, some excuse, to disperse that ex¬
pectancy. It had the insistence of an obli¬
gation in a nightmare; and, feeling the same
quality of unreality in the moment, he
stepped through the doors.

At the same moment he was conscious that
the organ’s notes had changed and a familiar
rhythm was swelling and sinking in persistent
announcement.

What had happened? He stared out—
heads were turning the other way. Something
was advancing down the aisle.

Then he realized. That pop-eyed idiot who
had glimpsed his entrance had supposed him
accompanied by the groom, and almost imme¬
diately had given the signal for the advance.

Nerves must have been terribly on edge,
stretched by the tension and delay.

As if paralyzed, he stood rooted; then he saw
Carrie Greeley’s blonde head emerge above the
crowd and saw her swing confidently into po¬
sition. Then he roused from his coma and
strode frantically toward the clergyman and
began a passionate and furious whispering.

“He is ill—he can not come—there has been
an accident-”

In dignity and rebuke the man inclined his
head, but only to murmur: “Your place is here
—to the right,” and only a mild surprise shone
in the ministerial eyes.

And that surprise, Malloch perceived, was
as much for his attire as for himself. Swiftly
he recollected that the clergyman had scarcely
met them and probably looked upon him as
the groom—a belated, afternoon-clothed and
best-manless groom.

Concluded on page 40

He saved the last

This is the story of 200 years ago, as befell the
gallant French marine—de Clieux. Charged
by his King to carry a cargo of coffee plants to
the Jsle of Martinique, his good ship was be¬
calmed, be-stormed and be-devilled without end.
Finally he was forced to share his last precious
portion of drinking water with his one last
drooping and dying plant. In such manner
de Clieux preserved coffee for his King.

F ROM this single plant, we are
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millions of Americans are privileged
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and healthful beverage.”

Coffee is the most democratic of
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No mansion so grand it can dispense
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Who can describe the irresistible
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Soon we shall have “coffee houses”
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Coffee —the Universal drinl ^

Copyright 1919 by the Joint Coffee Trade Publicity Committee of the United States.

&

13

PAGE 40 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

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THE VERY BEST MAN

“At the right—here,” he breathed again.

Desperately Malloch faced the congrega¬
tion. He had a notion that he ought to raise
his hand for silence and announce the thing—
but he would have to wait for the music to
stop. He felt the eyes fasten on him. His
own stared blindly.

D OSES and white orchids, fluttering
sweet-peas, floating on impalpable ribbon
wisps.

A bride’s bouquet, showering its fragile
fantasies, and above it a cloud of tulle,
shrouding a bent head.' A wraith, an appari¬
tion, ethereal and exquisite, advancing upon
the arm of Colonel Greeley.

The apparition floated to his side. The
bent head lifted. Behind the filmy tulle Miss
Christy’s terror-struck glance challenged his
own.

He had not stopped her. And she was
there, at the altar, a target of surmise,
transfixed already by the curious.

And Malloch remembered oddly a white
moth, a lovely, winged creature, impaled, that
some one had shown him exultantly, and he
saw again the sudden stillness before the ago¬
nized beating and fluttering.

So she stood now, stiff and pierced.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together
in-”

Over them the words poured, like a mean¬
ingless river. Memory and mind were blank,
except for that resolve not to leave her there on
the rapier-points of glances.

Dicky had asked for a short service.

“I, Richard, take thee, Anne-”

“I”—Malloch swallowed. He reflected that
the thing could all be annulled, and he could
settle endless oil upon her—“I—take thee,
Anne-”

Behind him he was suddenly conscious of a
slow gasp as if a great many people had been
holding their breaths till they could endure no
more. Not a sound else. Not a whisper.
Silence as tense as at an execution.

“ | ANNE, take thee-”

1 > Her voice was low and*muted but un¬
faltering. And the river of words flowed on.

He felt like a sleep-walker. The pressure
on his brain was like that awful moment when
consciousness is returning and the victim as¬
sures himself that the horror is false, that it
will lift.

But this horror never lifted. With the set
precision of drama it moved to its fulfilment.

A ring had been produced—the thoughtful
clergyman always carried one—and put on.
They had knelt. They had risen.

And then suddenly the stream of sonorous
words had ceased.

The bride turned toward her maid. Miss
Greeley flung back the tulle; slowly the bright
head turned and Malloch met eyes as blank
and unseeing as he felt his own must be.
They kissed with lips as cold as glaciers.

Back, up the aisle, arm in arm, through a
church of stone images coming to life, the or¬
gan j ubilating above a din of rising voices.

FANE advantage of the church wedding over

• the home is that moment’s respite from
the crowd. In the vestry they did not pause
for their friends to overtake them.

Malloch caught her by the arm and rushed
her to the limousine starting hi readiness.
Briskly he ordered out the man.

“I’ll drive.”

And drive he did, but not to the lighted and
expectant country club. He took the road to
the shack up old Horizon. It was the only
spot on earth where reporters and telephones
and friends would not bombard them.

And still she did not,speak. She was a re¬
markable creature.

It was a steep grade, but he made it in three-
quarters of an hour. The long, lovely twi¬
light was still flooding the wide room as he
flung the door open for her and followed her
within.

For a moment he stood looking about him,
at the cold ashes in the hearth, and the dusty
bearskins, and the comfortable confusion of
great chairs and books and pipes and dishes,
and then lie looked back at her, hi the center
of it all, incongruous and unreal as some
ghostly Lady of the Lake, in her drowned
veils. And now he heard her bouquet shake
like withered leaves in the stiff hands she could
not keep from trembling.

“You’re cold,” he said quickly, but she
shook her head.

“Sit down.”

He found a chair and cushions, and flung
open a window on painted sky.

And then he told her. He gave her the
whole thing, beginning with Mrs. Benning
and ending with the Chinaman.

CHE neither stormed nor wept nor reviled.
u Her bouquet still shivered a little, but all
in the world she said was, faintly half lightly:

“My poor Dick! How you cared for him!”

“Tell me”— Malloch was leaning forward,
his face haggard, his voice harsh—“tell me—
did you care for him?”

As he waited his own hands shook. For
that was the crux of the matter.

It was the difference between playing ape
and playing the fool. If—after all—he had
misjudged-

In the moment’s pause he fortified himself
with memories of her scornful smile, her neg¬
ligent, ironic eyes watching poor Dicky floun¬
dering through the maze of his slavery.

So he reassured yet braced himself.

She took her time to answer, but her words
came with sudden violence:

“Never! Not — his way. Not—my way.”

And she made that revelation in the bridal
white she had donned to marry the object of
her indifference!

As if she read his thoughts, her face quivered.
The blood came back to it, the Are to her eyes.

“If you had let me alone!” she said des¬
perately, yet half under her breath. “I might
— I might have cared—Dick was a dear! But
you were always there, mocking.

“You hated me. Because I took him from
you. Because you disbelieved in me. I knew.

“You thought I was going to make him mis¬
erable — but I wasn’t. I only wanted you to
think so.

“I wanted to hurt you—even through him —
the only way I could. That was why I played
with him — that was why I accepted him that
very night!”

CHE gave his astoundedness the thin ghost
of her defiant smile.

“You didn’t know you mattered so much,
did you? But there was always something
about you that made me feel ———

“You can imagine what I have been
through,” she added in a quieter tone. “There
are so many Mrs. Bennings! And, of course,
I deserved it all. She can have told you noth¬
ing worse than the truth. I was going to
marry that boy for his money.

“Just ambition and a wild desire to get
away from an aunt I hated. But I hated the
marriage more. I tried to break it off, but he
wouldn’t listen.

“Then when the crash came, and every
scrap of honor in me tried to whip me into
line, I was only terribly glad that something,
anything, was at last making him give me the
way out. For he suggested that he mustn’t
keep me.

“I begged him to forgive me. And he killed
himself.

. “I hate him for it,” she said, a fierce throb
in her voice. “It was so mean.

“And it wasn’t all for me. It was the
money, too. He always said he couldn’t
work. He was always soft.”

Her eyes swept Malloch stormily.

“But I would have died to bring him back,”
she vowed. “I suffered agonies. What peo¬
ple said wasn’t the worst. Yet there, at the
desk, when she gave me that picture—and I
felt your eyes on me — Just when I thought
that no one knew and I could be happy and
fox-get!”

LJER lips quivered, but with irony. “And I
x 1 had been looking forward to knowing you
—really knowing you — - Just those few words
before — - But I wouldn’t run away. I meant
to stay and marry Dick to punish you.

“But, oh, I truly meant to make him happy.
Truly, truly. And it was so bitter that I
couldn’t care, not even for him, when he was so
dear and devoted.

“I was always on the outside of life, laugh¬
ing, pretending, making believe. I said the
right one would come along, but he never did,
and so I tried to pretend over Dick — I would
never have failed him —and yet nothing was
ever real to me—nothing, nothing!”

The tense voice snapped. The bright head
went down upon the table and its veil and
orange-blossoms qxnvered with her weeping.

And of all the ten thousand things that Mal¬
loch might have said to comfort her he heard
himself saying, very unsteadily, “My dear, my
dear, he would never have made you
happy-”

And a moment later, his hand on that
shaken head: “My dear, this is real—from the
very beginning—only we did not know and
tore at each other-”

T\/IRS. BENNING sat in the alcove, watching
■ LV “ L the couples circle by. Beside her a young
man in naval uniform fixed his interested eyes
upon the pair that was her theme.

“It was all arranged between them,” Mrs.
Benning was murmuring. “Between the men,
I mean.

“There had always been another girl, in the
East—I’d known all about that —and at the
last moment he simply bolted to her. The en¬
gagement has just been announced—I believe
they are to live in the East.

“But Mr. Malloch, to get him out of it.
agreed to take his place. Odd, isn’t it, what
men will do for each other? But, of course,
she is a beautiful creature-”

Mi's. Benning paused. No murmur of de¬
nial came from the ensign’s lips.

“Oh, yes,” he said fervently.

“And so” — Mrs. Benning’s tone betrayed
her perception of the weak metal of his sex —
“so I suppose he doesn’t mind and enjoys hav¬
ing her spend liis money. They have just re¬
turned from Japan — but fancy behaving as if
it were a love-match!”

Beholding the crescent curve of the face up¬
turned against Malloch’s breast, the ensign
only murmured, unintelligibly, that they
seemed to fancy it very much!

As indeed they did.

THE AUTHOR: VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ, WHO
RODE INTO GREATNESS OVERNIGHT WITH “THE
FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE.”

THE SUBJECT: “THE LAND OF BLUFF.” (IS THERE
SUCH A LAND? IF SO, WHERE IS IT; WHAT IS IT?)

THE MAGAZINE: THE DELINEATOR FOR SEPTEMBER.

Beautiful

Spanish

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"The Come Back”

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"Henry”

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"Swanson’s Fdome,

Sweet Fdome”

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"Penny Lunch”

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THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 41

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PAGE 42

THE DELINEATOR TOR AUGUST , 1919

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Marshmallow Cream

The same preparation caterers use for cake fill¬
ings and frostings and for Marshmallow Sauces
and Sundaes■ Ready for use. No cooking or
chance of failure! At your grocer’s.

Book of Caterers’ Recipes free upon request.
The Hi polite Company, Saint Louis.U.S.A.

-/J?

64 pages and 72 designs

for you nvho embroider, crochet or knit

Butterick Transfers

TAKE IT EASY, HOME COOKS

YOU CAN-YET TEMPT THE FAMILY

BY FLORA G. ORR

Home-Economics Editor

W HO wants to do elabo¬
rate cooking in “dog
days ” ? Who wan ts to

eat it, either? The

dishes mentioned in these
menus are easy to prepare and
serve in a dainty way. They

are nourishing, too. Below

are given as many of the reci¬
pes as space allows.

CANAPE OF ANCHOVY

T JSE prepared anchovy
paste or reduce anchovies
to a smoot h paste wit ha w ood en
spoon. Season with lemon-
juice and spread the paste
on a prepared piece of bread.

To prepare the bread cut it
in quarter-inch slices and t hen
shape it with a cutter into
circles, squares, triangles or
rings. Set these pieces of
bread in the oven to brown or
saute them in just enough fat
to keep them from burning.

When the paste has been
smoot lily spread over the
bread, split two anchovies
lengthwise and lay them diag¬
onally across the canape,
marking, by a little pyramid
of riced yolk of hard-boiled
egg, the point where they
cross. Petal-shaped pieces of
the hard-boiled white of egg
may be placed radiating from
this center pyramid.

CHARLOTTE OF
RASPBERRIES

T INE a mold with lady’s fin-
1 1 gers (macaroons may be
used instead) and cover the
bottom with a layer of fresh
raspberries. Soak two table¬
spoons of gelatin with one-
fourth cup of cold water; heat
a cup of raspberry-juice to the
boiling point, then add soft¬
ened gelatin and one-third
cup of sugar. Stir until dis¬
solved. Strain, cool, and
when cold and slightly tliick-
ened stir in one quart of
stiffly whipped cream. Pour
into tlie mold and place on ice
until serving-time.

APRICOT EGGS
SURPRISE

T JSE round pieces of sponge
cake to represent toast.
Put them on a platter and
pour over them the fruit-juice
or sirup from the apricots. On
each round of cake place a
halved apricot with the
rounded side uppermost.
Around it place carefully a
little stiffly beaten sweetened
white of egg or whipped cream.
Grate a little nutmeg over the
top to represent pepper. Serve
immediately.

SWISS EGGS

WJ R E A S E a flat baking-
dish with some savory
fat, cover it with a layer of
thin slices of cheese, break the
eggs carefully on to the
cheese, sprinkle with pepper
and salt; cover with half a cup
of rich milk, sprinkle with
grated cheese and bake until
eggs have reached the degree
of hardness desired. Serve
in the same dish.

SWEDISH FRUIT SOUP

A SWEDISH fruit soup
1 v consists of a combination
of fruits or fruit-juices thick¬
ened with a little tapioca,
sago or arrowroot. A little
sugar or salt may be added if
desired. Serve as a first
coiu’se to a dinner or as a
simple dessert.

CINNAMON TOAST

BEAT as many eggs as will
be required for the
amount of toast you desire to
prepare, add about a third of
a cup of milk for each egg, a
little cinnamon, salt and su¬
gar; dip slices of stale bread
into the mixture and saute on
a well-greased griddle, brown¬
ing first on one side and then
on the other. Serve with a
mixture of cinnamon and su¬
gar or with maple sirup.

Menus for a Week in Augeist

SUNDAY BREAKFAST

Iced Canteloupe

Prepared Breakfast Food with Cream
Thin Buttered Toast Coffee

Milk

Milk

Thin Toast
Radishes

Sliced Cold Chicken

DINNER

Canape of Anchovy or Sardine
Cold Sliced Ilam Creamed New Potatoes

Corn on the Cob

Lettuce with French Dressing Charlotte of Raspberries

SUPPER

Stuffed Eggs Potato Salad

Thin Brown Bread-and-Butter Sandwiches
Orangeade

MONDAY BREAKFAST

Watermelon

Rice Boiled with Dates Served with Top Milk
Toast

Coffee

LUNCH

Swiss Eggs

Lettuce

Iced Tea

DINNER

Swedish Fruit Soup with Wafers

Baked Potatoes

Peas with Thin Cream Sauce Cucumber Salad

Apricot Eggs Surprise

TUESDAY BREAKFAST

Baked Pears Cinnamon Toast

Coffee Cold Milk-Shake for Children

LUNCH

Chicken Salad Quartered Tomatoes

Thin Bread-and-Butter Sandwiches
Stuffed Dates

DINNER

Broiled or Baked Salmon Fried Potato Balls

Kale or Spinach

Corn-Bread Fruit Trifle

WEDNESDAY BREAKFAST

Blackberries

Ham Omelet (Muffins

Coffee Milk

LUNCH

Veal Loaf Scalloped Potatoes

Prune-and-Peanut-Butter Salad
(Stuff Prunes with Peanut-Butter)

DINNER

Potato Souffle Macedoine of Vegetables

Cottage-Cheese Salad * f
Bread Pudding

THURSDAY BREAKFAST

Fresh Pineapple

Boiled Eggs
Coffee

Macaroni a l’ltalienne

Toast

Milk

LUNCH

Sliced Peaches with Ice-Cream
Cookies

Liver with Bacon

DINNER

Creamed Onions

Mashed Potatoes
Tomato Salad

Cubed Cold Watermelon in Sherbet Glasses

FRIDAY BREAKFAST

Green-Gage Plums Popovers

Jam

Coffee Milk

LUNCH

Canned Shrimps Scalloped Asparagus Salad

Fruit Blanc Mange

DINNER

Boiled Potatoes Fried Codfish

Sauerkraut (Liberty Cabbage)

Lettuce Salad with Radish Roses
Peach Kisses

SATURDAY BREAKFAST
Shredded Pineapple and Bananas
Eggs Poached in Milk with Toast
Coffee

LUNCH

Cold Consomme

Orange-and-Coconut Custard

DINNER

(Mashed Potatoes _

Sauted Carrots

Huckleberry Tarts

Potato Salad

Beefsteak

Endive Salad

QUARTERED

TOMATOES

pEEL and cut tomatoes in
A quarters, using the juice
in making an ordinary thick
cream or white sauce. Cook
the tomatoes in this sauce
about five minutes, season
with salt and pepper and
serve.

PEACH KISSES

TN THE halves of fresh
peaches place marshmal¬
lows and place in the oven
until the marshmallows be¬
come soft. Cover with sweet¬
ened whipped cream and
serve.

FRUIT TRIFLE

ARRANGE slices of stale
sponge cake in a pudding-
dish or in individual dessert
dishes. Moisten with fruit
juice, cover with crushed and
sweetened peaches and pour
over all a soft custard sauce.
Top with a meringue or with
whipped cream.

MACEDOINE OF
VEGETABLES

TJOIL together for about
half an hour equal quan¬
tities of string-beans, cut in
thin strips, and cubed carrot.
Add the same quantity of
sliced potatoes and cook an¬
other thirty minutes. Season
well, adding a little finely
chopped onion just before
serving.

POTATO SOUFFLE

po TWO cups of riced
potatoes add two table¬
spoons of butter or butter
substitute, one-half teaspoon
of salt, one well-beaten egg,
and enough milk to moisten.
Grease a baking-dish, put in
the potato mixture and bake
in a medium oven until brown.

MACARONI
A L’lTALIENNE

TJREAK up one-fourth
pound of macaroni in
short pieces unless it is already
prepared in this way, and boil
it until it is soft. Drain the
macaroni. Put four table¬
spoons of olive-oil into the
stew-pan, put in the macaroni
and fry a little. Add one-
fourth cup of grated cheese
and one cup of tomato sauce.
Let all simmer together for
fifteen or twenty minutes,
season to taste and serve.

EGGS POACHED IN
MILK WITH TOAST

piIIS process is simple
A though care must be
taken not to burn the milk.
It is the wiser plan to use a
double-boiler rather than to
put the dish directly over the
flame. Salt the milk a little,
and when scalding hot, break
the eggs carefully into it.
When they have cooked suffi¬
ciently remove them, place on
rounds or triangles of toast
and pour over them the milk,
to which a little butter has
been added.

HUCKLEBERRY TARTS

WILL small pastry shells
A with huckleberry jam
and serve as a dessert with
. coffee.

POPOVERS

pOPOVERS are made from
^ a batter i r which were used
equal proportions of flour and
liquid. To each cup of flour
and milk to be used, allow one
egg and one-fourth teaspoon
of salt. Mix and sift the flour
and salt. Pour the milk in
slowly; then add the egg slight¬
ly beaten and beat all for two
minutes.

Fill hissing-hot greased muf¬
fin pans half full, put at once
in a moderate oven and bake
thirty-five minutes or longer.

TIIF DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 43

SUMMER

Oval Label Delicacies from
the Great Armour Kitchens

T HE community kitchens of
Europe are expressions of the
big thrift lesson taught by the
war. The Armour kitchens have
for years been demonstrating the
soundness of the principle on
which is based the community
idea—serving American house¬
holds with foods of highest quality,
ready-cooked or easily prepared.

Avoidance of waste, saving of time
and work, relief from the discom¬
forts of summer cooking—these are
the advantages you enjoy in buying
Oval Label Package Foods. The
group pictured here suggests num¬
erous delicacies for summer serving.

Many are ready tor the table—all
are simple in preparation. All are
of the superior goodness pledged
by the Armour Oval Label on
nearly 300 top-grade food prod¬
ucts—soups, meats, fruits, fish,
vegetables, cereals, condiments,
cooking fats, beverages, and other
table needs.

Let the Oval Label be your reli¬
able guide in taking the guess-work
out of food-buying. Ask your
dealer for a full list of Oval Label
products. The nearest Armour
Branch House can promptly supply
him with any or all of these foods
in the greatest variety.

To learn new ways of serving these dishes, write to Department of Food Economics,

Division 46 D, Armour and Company, Chicago, for a free copy of “ I he Business of

Being a Housewife,” the authoiity on foods, cookery and the family budget. _g**«

ARMOUR

COMPANY

lOiUDHAM

PAGE 44

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

Use sound fruits and fresh vegetables thoroughly cleaned. Use clean utensils
and pure water. Keep the hands clean. Test your jars for cracks and leaks.
Wash them till they sparkle and place in a vessel of cool water on a stove to heat.

Remember — Your time, money, work and care will be entirely wasted unless
you use jar rubbers that will keep their life through the heat and steam of
processing and afterwar'd keep the contents of your jars absolutely sealed against
the air.

usco

Kold Pak Jar Rubbers

United States
Rubber Company

contain a special quality of rubber, specially prepared for this
one special purpose. We have subjected them to every known
jar ring test and invented new ones and USCO Kold
Pak Jar Rubbers have responded 100% perfect.

Order them from your grocer and
insure yourself against loss.

MADE IN
THE CUP

kA t

THE TABLE

Went to
War!

Home

Again.

The Secret

The secret of G. Washington’s
Coffee is simple. It is coffee minus
the Waste. It is just coffee—with
the wood, and all that’s not coffee in
the berry eliminated. Try it for iced-
coffee. Dissolves in cold water.

Ready instantly when you pour
on the water—hot or cold

Concluded from page 20

REPRISAL

But he was not drunk, as she saw when he
came abreast of her. His dull, heavy face was
sullen but not sodden, and the uncertainty of
his movements was more that of fatigue than
intoxication. She slipped along the fence and
reached the gate as he did.

“It’s a cold night,” she said in German,
crossing her arms on the top bar of the gate.

'T'HE soldier started at hearing his native
tongue and came to port arms.

“Halt! Who is there?” he demanded.

“I am Adrienne Carbonncz,” was the mod¬
est answer. “This is my Belgian home. My
German home was in Cologne.”

“Koln?” the man repeated with sudden in¬
terest.

“Yes. My father’s shop was in the -

Strasse. You know Cologne?”

“Yah,” he said, and moved steadily up and
down.

It was evident that she could not count on
the sentry’s being taken unaware. She must
think of another way.

“I have no food to offer you,” she said as
he returned; “but you are thirsty perhaps?”

“Yes. Can you bring me milk?”

Adrienne shrugged. “Bah! Milk will not
warm you. I will bring you rum.”

The soldier steadied himself by the fence.

“Es ist verbolen,” he said uneasily, as if to
himself; then he added impatiently:

“I have eaten nothing since noon. Bring me
milk.”

Adrienne sped up the garden walk and,
snatching a lighted candle from the hall, made
her way to the small storeroom back of the
kitchen. On a swinging shelf in the corner
was a tall bottle, sole relic of the old days when
Christmas demanded a flowing bowl and Jean
was wont to drink the health of his neighbors.

She drew the cork, lightly replaced it, and,
tucking the bottle under her arm, hurried
back to the gate.

This time she did not wait for the sentinel,
but placing the bottle on the gate-post, she
slipped back to the house and once more took
up her watch at the window.

ALREADY her spirits had risen at the
^ thought of the story she would have to
tell in the market-place on the morrow. •

Perhaps he had not spied the tempting bot¬
tle! But he would; never fear! A man was a
man, and this man was a Boche. What per¬
tained to his appetite would not be overlooked.

Would he get tipsy and noisy? Or would
he go to sleep at his post? She hoped it would
be the latter, for then the relief would And
him drunk at his post! Court martial, no
less. One more debt of vengeance paid on the
long account she owed to Germany.

Presently a heavy cloud swept over the
moon, the wind rose, and sleet began to rattle
against the window-pane. She could no longer
see the figure at the gate. With a smile of
satisfaction she rose and prepared for bed.

The sentinel would continue to rest until he
woke up and found himself in the guard-house.

What was the penalty for a sentinel being
drunk at his post? It depended, she sup¬
posed, on the officers.

But they were all great brutes. Any serious
breach of discipline was punishable by death.

She stirred restlessly. The sentinel was
young, not over twenty-two. She supposed he
would be shot. It couldn’t have been many
years since he was a kiddy like Jean, a little
towheaded, red-cheeked lad, such as she had
romped with in Cologne.

She wondered if his mother was living.
What a disgrace for her! And she would
never know that he had refused the rum, that
he was cold and exhausted and that tempta¬
tion had been put in his way.

Adrienne pulled her thoughts up short.
Silly sentiment! He was a hulking, insolent
Boche, who would loot her house and destroy
her property at the wink of an eye.

He was part of that damnable machine that
was crushing the life out of her beloved coun¬
try ; that was separating her from her husband
and starving her children, and making all life
a hideous, continuous nightmare.

She tried to sleep, but in spite of herself she
listened for sounds on the road. But the only
noise that broke the stillness was the driving
sleet against the pane.

Nine o’clock, nine-thirty, ten! She won¬
dered if he was still able to walk his post.

Presently she rose, and slipping on shoes
and a warm wrapper she went to the window.
Her own image confronted her against the
black glass.

For a time she sat there motionless, think¬
ing; then she snatched a blanket from the bed,
and throwing it around her, ran down the steps
and into the garden.

A S THE chill air struck her bare ankles she
^ shivered, but pressed on, skirting the
bushes cautiously until she reached her gate.
There she put out her hand and felt along
cautiously until she reached the gate-post.

There was nothing on it! She listened for
the sound of departing or approaching foot¬
steps, but all was silent.

Groping her way through the darkness she
made her way down the road. At the foot of
the bridge she stumbled against something.
It was her enemy the Boche, lying face down¬
ward in sleep, with the empty bottle beside him.

It was just as she had planned and hoped.
The stage was perfectly set for the climax, and
all she had to do was to go back to her warm
bed and let events take their natural course.

But instead of doing so, she shoved the
sleeping man almost angrily with her foot.

“Get up, you drunken loafer!” she cried in
German. “Do you want to be shot?

“I say!” she exclaimed, this time shaking
him violently. “Wake up! Do you know
where you are?”

But the man might have been dead for all
c)he response he made.

Adrienne caught her breath sharply. Some
curious change was working in her: that wo¬
man’s instinct to succor a helpless fellow being
even though he be a foe.

Stooping down, she got her hands under his
arms and began dragging him into the bushes.
At least she would hide him until she could
think what to do. For she knew now that if
she could prevent it she was not going to let
him be shot.

Then she sat beside him, panting with the
effort, and looked at him.

He was evidently an ignorant country boy,
one of those clumsy louts she used to see driv¬
ing into Cologne on the market-wagons.
Everything about him was inert except the
right hand, which still grasped his gun. It
was a coarse, grimy hand, instinctively obey¬
ing the will that could no longer voluntarily
control it.

Adrienne looked at him with contemptuous
pity. Poor fool!

CUDDENLY she lifted her head. Through

the stillness came the faint beat of horses'
feet.

“Wake up!” she cried frantically, tugging
at the sleeping soldier. “Some one is coming!
Get up, I say!”

But he gave no response.

Adrienne held her breath again and listened.
There was no longer any doubt. Two or more
horses were approaching the bridge from the
far side, and in a minute would be upon them.

Stooping down, she dragged the sentinel’s
gray greatcoat off his shoulders and thrust her
own arms into the sleeves. She snatched up
his cap and put it on, then wrenched the gun
from liis contracted hand and scrambled up
the bank.

Adrienne’s sharp wits served her in good
stead. She had seen the sentinel challenge the
pedestrian earlier in the night and she knew
what to do. Advancing rapidly, she called out
in the deepest voice she could command:

“Halt! Who is there?”

The figure in advance came to a halt and
an indifferent voice answered:

“Officer of the day, with the countersign.”

Adrienne’s heart missed a beat. Could she
remember the next move? Would he discover
that she was a woman when he came closer?
She moved into the deeper shadows at the foot
of the bridge before she said uncertainly:

“Advance, officer of the day, with the coun¬
tersign.”

THE officer, who had dismounted, was fead-
■* ing his horse, winch was fortunately be- |
tween him and Adrienne. He gave the coun¬
tersign and added:

“Has any one passed this post?”

“Yes, sir; a non-commissioned officer with
the countersign.”

“Anything to report?”

“Nothing, sir.”

The officer got back into his saddle and rode
on, but the man with him lingered a moment
with more than one suspicious look over his
shoulder before he, too, rode on.

Adrienne, limp from excitement, leaned
against the bridge post. She had saved the
sentinel this once, but what was to be done
during the hour that must elapse before mid¬
night, and how could she rouse him before the
relief came?

Why should she rouse him at all? The Ger¬
man dog! To think of her, Adrienne Carbon-
nez, in a German uniform, protecting a
drunken Boche, who would probably walk ten
miles to do one of her countrymen an injury!

A shudder of repulsion swept her. Her
body shrank from contact with that grimy,
gray-green uniform.

CHE went back to the gully, where the sen-
° tinel lay as she had left him, his mouth
open, his stiff coarse hair standing straight up
from his fair, boyish forehead. No; she could
not leave him to be found like that. She must
rouse him at any cost.

Snatching his cap from her head she scram¬
bled down the bank and filled it with icy water
which she dashed in his face. There was no
response; she pricked his palms with a pin, and
beat upon his shoulders with her fists.

At the slightest noise from the road above
she instantly picked up the gun and walked
the post, ready to challenge any passer-by.

But no one passed. She and the drunken
sentinel had the night to themselves.

The clock in the far-off belfry chimed eleven-
thirty. Only thirty minutes more before the
relief was due! Seizing him by the hah - , she
boxed Ms ears until her hands smarted.

“You dog of a German!” she muttered.
“Wake up, I say!”

The soldier stirred slightly and opened his
dazed eyes.

“Quick!” urged Adrienne. “The relief is
almost due. Sit up! Put on your coat. Here,
I’ll help you. No, not that arm, you fool.”

The big, clumsy fellow obeyed stupidly.

“Now you must walk!” she commanded.
“Walk or I will beat you with the gun. Do
you hear? Walk, I say!”

Clinging to her arm, he staggered forward,
from the bridge to the gate, from the gate
back to the bridge, stumbling, drowsing, wak¬
ing with a start. And Adrienne supported
Mm, scolding, tMeatening, encouraging, and
always listening in an agony of apprehension.

Gradually Ms steps grew firmer. The driv-
rng sleet m Ms face, the enforced motion, were
begmmng to sober Mm.

“T CAN go alone now, madam,” he said
tMckly, gazing about in bewilderment.
“I must have slept. But you—you have be¬
friended me. You have saved me for the
Fatherland!”

Adrienne, disheveled, overwrought, half-
frozen, looked at Mm for one savage moment,
then to his utter amazement she flung out her
arm and struck him full in the face.

“Curse your Fatherland!” she screamed M
fury. “Curse your Kaiser and all his damna¬
ble crew. What I did for you was not for your
Fatherland; it was for your mother’s .sno
May she never bear another!”

And leavrng Mm standing bewildered M
the road, she rushed like a whirlwind Mto her
garden and disappeared in the darkness.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 45

CANNING SUCCESS
AND FAILURE

BY FLORA G. ORR

HOME-ECONOMICS EDITOR

F AILURE in canning vegetables is not
always a thing of which you need to be
ashamed. It is, if you have been
careless. But if you have followed directions
minutely, and yet have had cans of corn which
have gone bad, peas which have developed
“flat-sour,” or greens which have not come
forth in the best condition, it is something
about which, for scientific reasons, I should like
to have you write to me.

Already I have had many interesting let¬
ters. Let me hear your experience too.

If the woman who cans is not to blame for
canning failures, what has been the trouble?

The bacteria may
have been too much
for the method. By
that statement I
mean that the ques¬
tion of canning is a
bacteriological one.

And all bacteriol¬
ogists are not yet
willing to say that
they know every¬
thing there is to
know about the
germs which inhabit
vegetables.

r JPHE soil is full of
bacteria. Some
of these bacteria are
useful, some are
harmful, but no
matter what kind
there are, many of
them are sure to be
on vegetables which
grow rather close to
the ground.

If we, in our
kitchens, want to
can vegetables so
that they will keep,
our aim is to kill all
thosebacteria. That
is not an easy mat¬
ter. Many of the soil
bacteria are what
the scientist calls
“spore-bearing.”

This means that if a place becomes too warm
for them, they can change their foim and turn
into spores, which are like thick-walled
balls, and in this form they can stand a great
deal in the way of temperature. Quite like the
hero of a fairy-story with his invisible, impen¬
etrable armor.

YOU may even get the water-bath heated
to a temperature which will kill the spores
when applied for a certain length of time, and
still have failure, for it takes a long time for
this heat to penetrate to the center of the can,
especially if it is packed with a hard vegetable
like asparagus, or with compact material like
greens. Often the vegetables at the center of

the can never reach the temperature of the
water-bath.

Again, while a certain heat for a certain
length of time may kill the soil bacteria (and
spores) of Wisconsin, New York bacteria may
be far more difficult to destroy. Many com¬
plications may enter into the problem. It is
by far the safer plan to follow the method
worked out by your own State College of
Agriculture, than to depend upon directions
which work successfully in another section of
the country.

Of course there are certain precautions which
you should always take. Have the vegetables

clean and unspoiled.
Young, fresh vege¬
tables are better
than old or stale
ones. For one thing,
heat penetrates
them more easily.

TYO NOT neglect
the blanching
and cold-dip. These
operations are al¬
ways included in the
directions, and so it
is safe to assume
that it is the thing
to do until we are
told differently by
the scientists.

Some persons as¬
sert that blanching
sets the color and
removes objection¬
able flavors. This is
probably true. Cer¬
tainly the vegeta¬
bles are easier to
pack in the cans
after blanching, and
the cold-dip allows
the housewife more
comfort in handling
them.

Bacteria grow
best in a warm
place. For that
reason do not pack
cans with material
and leave them standing for any length of
time before the actual processing begins.

A warm kitchen in Summer—can’t you just
see the bacteria “get busy”? They may be
killed afterward in processing, but the flavors
developed through their activity are not al¬
ways desirable.

As soon as the processing is over and the
cans are sealed, they should be cooled quickly
and stored in a cool place. The reason for this
is that, though you may not have killed all
the bacteria in the canning, those still alive
may be somewhat weaker than before, so that
they will not grow and cause any more trouble
unless you encourage them by putting the
cans in a warm place.

CORN IS ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT
VEGETABLES TO CAN

WHAT SENT HIM ACROSS

Preserve Luscious Fruits Now!

A ND when Winter comes—
-**■ think of the delightful des¬
serts that will be furnished by
your jars packed full of peaches,
pears, cherries and other fruits!

The

Aluminum Preserving Kettle

makes constant stirring unneces¬
sary, saving time, work and worry.

Replace utensils that wear out
with utensils that “Wear- Ever ”

Loo^ for the “ Wear-Ever** trade mark on the Bottom of each utensil

BY HELENE GRANDET

W ITH a sky so blue and a breeze so
fragrant and tempered, no one able to
live in the open would have been
miserly enough of his time to stay shut indoors.

I had settled myself, knitting in hand, under
the wisteria vines of my study porch, when
Doctor Martin’s kindly face smiled around the
corner, and his gentle, tired voice said, “May I
sit down here for a bit? I want to hear you
talk.” He carried a book, and protruding
from its top were the telltale papers which
meant the notes of the college professor.

“Your address at chapel yesterday was
splendid, doctor, but why did you not go on
regarding independence of action? Were you
afraid of the presidential presence?” 1 asked.

“Yes and no,” he replied. “But perhaps I
might blame it to that something in me which
at times holds back my fullest, truest expres¬
sion. I am not afraid of my convictions, but
I don’t seem to get them audibly before the
world. What would you call it?”

I thought a moment and then I said, “Go
to my desk in the study, and write down
calmly and clearly exactly what you would wish
to do if you were not a professor of Greek.
Make an honest confession to me, and I shall
have something to say in return.”

IN TEN minutes he brought me this:

“I am by tradition and preparation a
professor of Greek. I am living in an ancient
world, and I find few fellow minds to compan¬
ion with. I want more and more vital things
to struggle for. The boys in my lecture-room
come and go, and are largely facts in my every¬
day life.

“Occasionally one looks into my face with the
expression, ‘I know, too!’ but he goes on, and
finds his quest out there among men who do
things. Lacking the initiative to do the same
tiling, I hunger for another such look. Yes, I
want to stretch my arms and soul out to their
fullest extent and feel alive. Amen.”

JN ANSWER, I told him this:

“You are suffering from repression.
Pride and fear, or a worshipful attitude toward
the academic creed keeps the voice of your
real soul in bondage. You have gifts you do
not suspect, and faults which are mastering
you because your lonely world, out of touch
with vital men, blinds you.

“Contact, opposition, criticism (even un¬
deserved), and the straining to its limit at

times of your golden faith in men, are what
you need. Drop your professorship, your
grammars, lexicons, and go across.

“You are somewhat beyond the fighting age,
but help men to put into themselves the real
courage that you have. Help them to live or
even die in a manly way. Do this, and your
own soul will grow so great that your com¬
panions will make you their leader. Why?
Because your creed of service has no sordid
price.”

TLJE GREW pale as I talked, and when I had
finished he said with a voice in which
there was a tremor, “Do you see that in my
confession?”

I said gently, “Yes, and more, dear Doctor
Martin; but this is enough for the present.”

He left me as other friends dropped in for a
chat, but six months after I read in a New
York paper, that Doctor Martin, who had gone
across seas in Red Cross work, had been
specially commended by General Pershing for
his vital work among the men at the front,
having gone over the top three times, and
while painf ully wounded had given emergency
aid to the more seriously wounded of his com¬
pany. In the hospitals at the front he was
now lovingly called The Strong Brother.

I had helped him then, by my reading, to lift
himself out of the narrow cell of Greek books
and roots, into the open country where men
grow great and strong because they come to
know themselves.

■COR several years Miss Grandet has been
a careful student of graphology.

We can not substantiate Miss Grandet’s
claim. We have no desire to do so. We
publish this series of articles merely for the
interest which our readers may find in Miss
Grandet’s presentation of a study in which
many persons find diversion.

If you wish to know what your hand¬
writing indicates, send on unlined paper in
your own handwriting and signed with
your own name, an original thought or
favorite quotation, in prose, of about
twenty-five words. This should be accom¬
panied by 25 cents in stamps and by a
stamped, self-addressed envelope. Address
Helene Grandet, THE DELINEATOR Service
Department, Butterick Building, New York.

The Aluminum Cooking Utensil Co.

Dept. 20 New Kensington, Pa.

In Canada " Wear-Ever ’' utensils are made by Northern
Aluminum Company, Limited, Toronto, Onl.

Useful
Every Day

Nate
Adjustable Bail

PAGE 46 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

BEAUTY’S SECRET

Charlotte Fairchild

THIS MIGHT BE “PERFECT SIMPLICITY,” THIS STUDY
OF FRANCES STARR

A T MIRABEL SUMMER’S tliey don’t believe in
massage. They throw up their hands and utter
horrified Oh la, la’s over two tilings—stretching
the skin and using water on the face. They never do
either.

in that magic treatment I began to tell you about last
month, after they've washed your face with the ice-
water-cold-cream-astringent pad, they put on a skin-food
and a muscle oil. They rub it in very lightly and pat it
with their fingers, but never massage, because most
massage stretches the skin: then the precious elasticity is
gone, and when that begins to go the skin might as well
give up the ghost and announce to everybody, “I’m forty
years old.”

You must not even rub hard with the powder puff.
Yet I’ve seen women simply scrub the powder in! How
could any look of elasticity and firmness withstand such
rubbing half a dozen times a day? It simply can’t be
done.

WHY is the skin of youth so lovely? Elastic!
vv So Mirabel Summer’s acolytes never, never massage nor
rub hard nor stretch. When they feel content that you have
enough food in your skin to tide it over until its next meal, and
enough muscle-oil on top of it—you need such a little bit —
slithered over the eye-lids and in those lines that lead from the
nose to the mouth: and at the other corners of the eyes, where
bad little crows’-feet creep in; and on your troubled brow to take
away all those lines your astonishment at the things that happen
in life have brought there; and at the corners of your mouth, so
that they won’t droop but will look clean and young: and then
on that very important place right in front of the ends of your
ears where little lines pop in and shout, “We’re getting old!” and
thick under the chin where another chin seems to be trying to
appear, or even worse where you are beginning to have that
look that is known as “scrawny” (such an old maid of a
word!)—when in all those places they have rubbed
the skin-food and t lie oil to feed the skin and to tighten
the escaping muscles, THEN out comes the patter.

IT IS squeezed out of ice-water, then out of astringent
J tonic, and then you are set upon fiercely. Pat, pat,
pat on your shoulders, all over the back of your neck,
hard on the sides of it and then underneath your chin
with such vigor that you blink and set your teeth and
think, “Maybe there’s something wrong inside of my
neck; something growing'”

But there isn't. Mirabel Summer is just patting up
your lazy circulation. For twenty minutes she pats.

After the first five or ten of those minutes, she dips the
patter in a special astringent and spanks harder than
ever, especially under the chin and on the cheeks where
you have given up and decided you’re old enough to be
a little flabby.

You begin to glow like a rose, and the sound takes you
back to when you were a wee one and your daddy made a
galloping sound of horses with his hands beating his
thighs and then his breast, gallop, gallop, gallop down a
wet, hard road.

But it stings right through your imagination. There’s
no half-way business about that patting—remember
that!

Then the horse stops and an aeroplane begins to buzz,
but it turns out to be a vibrator at the back of your neck.
And you glow some more. Then that stops, too, and
again ice slides over your face, and you’re dying to pop
up and look at yourself because your face and neck feel as
young as if you were twelve, as glowing and clean and
alive.

AN EYE-CUP is given you and you wash your eyes
1 v with their tonic and the strong-armed patter tells you
that if people would only systematically roll their eyes,
up and down, this way and that, the exercise would keep
their eyes young and bright, because the circulation
would be improved. But you must do it systematically
and not just when you see something worth rolling your
eyes at!

You open your mouth to tell her a marvelous thing
you, yourself, know about circulation, but you never get it
told, because suddenly she clamps your mouth shut and
binds it that way with a towel under your chin and over
your head as if holding your face together. Inside the

Campbell Shu Hus

HAIR, 1919 STYLE; COSTUME ABOUT 1860. HELEN CLARK

towel is a pad of the absorbent cotton squeezed out of ice-water,
and then out of a heavy astringent that makes your skin and
muscles cuddle up tight and stay there. Over your eyes is
placed another pad, ice-cold and with the delightful tonic
astringent on it.

Then you are abandoned. Every bit of you relaxes and you
go off into a delicous, waking slumber. After a while you think
how nice it would be if all the millions of double chins in the
world disappeared forever.

Then comes your pet dream of beauty—what it would be like
if everybody suddenly came spiritually alive and that new life
would shine out of their faces.; And you know that all the
double chins would disappear if everybody did this Mirabel
Summer thing, and did it faithfully. And you know also that
everybody must come ultimately to be spiritually alive.

Charlotte Fairchild

ELSIE FERGUSON’S ELABORATE SIMPLICITY

THEN back you go to circulation, and tell yourself
1 that wonderful thing the patter did not let you tell
her when she bound your face so abruptly. It is this: a
great physician says t hat all fat, even inherited fat, is due
to bad circulation. You can be pink as anything and fat,
and still be anemic. He proves his case. Any fat per¬
son who has a hundred dollars he makes slender and
well by the power of electric machines. Anemia disap¬
pears and with it (lie fat. He can take it off your arms
only or from any ol her part of you that is too fat:. 11 is
simply a matter of getting the circulation right. He does
do it, because I have seen his patients.

Circulation! That is the corner-stone of Mirabel
Summer’s method. ■

Pat the circulation out of sluggishness, and the rapidly
flowing blood strengthens and builds up the tissues be¬
neath the skin, and its elasticity comes back.

And after a while your patter comes back also and un¬
binds you and slides some more ice over you, dries you with
a tissue, gets out an evil-looking instrument and attacks
your eyebrows. You have had them attacked before, but
never just like this. You wince and wriggle and squirm, but she
does not stop, as other people always have. Then she powders
you and with a butterfly-wing action brushes your eyelashes
up and your eyebrows down. Then she lets you see yourself.
You gaze and beam and forgive her everything, and finally
say, “This is the nicest me I've ever looked at!”

THEN you go home — though you’re dying to show your
friends how pleasant you can look when you try — and write
it all exactly as it happened to those friends you write to once a
month. You make it plain that they can do every bit of it
at home, except the work with the vibrator, and tliey can
do that, too, if they only have a vibrator or twenty dollars to
buy one.

But always pat up. And pat at least ten minutes a
day if you really want your color to come back so that
you won’t have to rouge, and so that you will have that
heavenly, fluctuating color that no rouge can ever give
you. And get a bottle of heavy astringent, and after you
have patted your chin till it hates you, bind it up and
leave it bound for ten minutes. That lovely young con-
toiu - you once had will come back.

Next time we’ll talk about sins—blackheads and shiny
noses and liver spots and acne. Nobody needs to have
any of them. And we’ll talk about face powders, too,
and what is in them.

But in the mean time, PAT!

\\7 HEN I left Mirabel Summer’s, after my face had been
’ v patted and spanked until it glowed with color, I
climbed to the top of a Fifth Avenue bus. The glow
didn't stop with the mere surface of my chin and nose
and cheeks; it spread and spread until every bit of me
glowed with the intoxicating knowledge that I, even 1.
was learning the secret of the intangible allure of the
goddesses of the stage upon whom I had gazed with ad¬
miration and wonder and envy and bewilderment.

From the top of the bus I looked down upon hundreds
of women. The day was like early June. Only those
who are gloriously young and those older ones who are as
faithful in the care of their beauty as the tide to the moon,
only those are a joy to the eye on sucli a day.

Every line shows, every sallow pore lies sulking in the
public eye. It was on the whole rather a sad sight: such
a wonderful day and such lovely clothes, and such sag¬
ging, tired-as-ev’erything faces!

I tried not to have that “better-than-thou” feeling, but
I just couldn’t help sending up a tiny prayer of thankful¬
ness that my face did not cry out to every passer-by that
I was too weary or too lazy to start the blood racing
through its natural course.

And then farther up the Avenue, above Forty-fifth or
-sixth, where one sees the women who would no more
neglect their beauty than they would their reputations —
ah, there I began to perk up! I pulled my hat at a more
dashing angle and said. “These are the women that go to
Mirabel’s! These are the Patters!”

They must be. You can’t be past thirty and look as
they do on such a day as this unless you have been taking
intelligent and faithful care of your skin and muscles.

Send me in care of The Delineator, a stamped, self-
addressed envelope for three beauty leaflets.

E. 0. Hoppe

AN ENGLISH TYPE—BEERBOHM TREE’S DAUGHTER,

MRS. VIOLA TREE PARSONS

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 47

With All Modern Improvements

P and G.—The White Naphtha Soap, like the sewing machine,
• belongs to the modern time-savers that you can not do with¬
out, once you have tried them.

P. andG. —The White Naphtha Soap launders clothes, washes
dishes, scrubs and cleans amazingly fast and amazingly well.
Use it wherever you now use any kind of laundry soap —
yellow, white, or naphtha—and you’ll get better results with far
less effort.

No hard rubbing —no hard scrubbing. This new idea soap
contains just enough naphtha to loosen dirt merely by contact.
Works in any water—hot, cold, soft, hard.

Isn’t it worth your while to try this up-to-date, quick action
soap? An extra large cake costs no more than the soap you are
using now.

Not merely a white laundry soap;

Not merely a naphtha soap;

But the best features of both, combined.

PAGE 48 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

NK 120 waif

OUR SIGN IS OUR BOND

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The Disease Germ Is
More Dangerous
Than the Mad Dog

F a snarling, foaming-mouthed, wild-eyed mad dog
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Every ounce of chivalry in your being would be in the quick
spring that would land you between the children and danger.

But how about the unseen menace—more threatening, more fatal,

, more cruel than a million mad dogs—a menace that threatens your
family, your community and yourself all the time—the disease germ.
A region-wide epidemic can start in an unsanitary garbage-can.
A cuspidor that is not kept sterile not only can, but will, spread
tuberculosis, grippe, influenza, and other grave diseases.

Other danger-spots in the home—places where germs positively
will breed, unless these places are regularly disinfected—are toilets;
sinks; drains; dark,sunless corners; and wherever flies gather or breed.

You can make the danger-places in your home completely
germ-proof by the regular use of Lysol Disinfectant; for no germ,
no matter what its nature, can live in its presence.

Big hospitals rely upon it, physicians everywhere prescribe it,
and boards of health urge its systematic use in the home.

Lysol is invaluable for personal hygiene.

Lysol is economical—a 50c bottle makes five gallons of powerful
disinfectant; a 25c bottle makes two gallons. Use it regularly.

Remember, there is but one, true Lysol—the product made,
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Contains Lysol, and kills germs on razor
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Makers of Pebeco Tooth Paste

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

PAGE

Continued from page 12

THISTLEDOWN

whether it would be wicked to try. She de¬
cided that it would, but the unmanageable
thought dangled in her mind like a hairpin
caught on a magnet.

In the morning Mrs. Withington telephoned
that her husband found he had to work all day,
and perhaps Elinor would come over for after¬
noon tea with her; Junior, though still in bed,
was so much better that she could at last be
neighborly, and there was no danger of con¬
tagion if they stayed out-of-doors.

The friendly unconsciousness in her voice
made Elinor uncomfortable; even over the tel¬
ephone she liked her and then knew that she
had been rather hoping she wouldn’t. After
accepting she stood motionless for a long time,
staring with a faint frown at her reflection in
the small mirror on the wall. Then she began
to wonder what she would wear.

In the demure white she finally chose she was
as deliberately and flamboyantly enticing as if
panoplied for conquest at a fraternity ball.
Mrs. Withington, her hair slightly askew, and
clad in a too stiffly starched linen dress that
bulged inopportunely, held her at arm’s length
and surveyed her with pleasure.

“You’re just as lovely as Carter said,” she
declared enthusiastically. “Bring your knit¬
ting over to the swing; the germs are blowing
the other way. Poor dear, he’s not only
frightfully busy, but he’s eaten something; he’s
having an awful day. I tried to make him
join us, but he sent his excuses. You’ve been
so kind to him; those swims have done him so
much good.”

JTL1NOR followed in an obscure bewilder¬
ment as Mrs. Withington, on her arm a
gay bag similar to the one she herself carried,
led her to the rustic seats swinging from a frame
under a large oak.

“My knitting-bag is deceptive,” smiled Mrs.
Withington, opening it to draw forth a small
stocking with a heel like a sieve. “In the
hours when I am not keeping house and being
secretary to Carter 1 am pretty busy darning.
Openwork heels and professors—the nice lively
kind of professors — run in the Withington
family. And Junior is following in his father’s
heels at least. Look at this!”

She held up a larger sock riddled like the
smaller.

As Elinor obligingly laughed, her bewilder¬
ment was shot through with discomfort at the
sight of Carter Withington’s sock dangling
from that slim hand wearing his wedding-ring.

“Junier’s the image of his father,” Mrs.
Withington was saying. “Do snap-shots bore
you or would you like to see some?”

She politely begged to see them, but as she
turned the leaves of the camera-book while
Mrs. Withington continued mending, her dis¬
comfort developed into a positive ache that
she could not understand and that she longed
to run away from. She looked at pictures of
Junior, a little boy of eight or ten very much
like Carter Withington, sitting on Carter
Withington’s knee, riding on his back, playing
leap-frog with him; pictures of Carter With¬
ington and Mrs. Withington gardening to¬
gether, skating together, walking together; a
picture of Carter Withington in his study.

Then she came to one of him in Junior’s
playroom, astride Junior’s old rocking-horse
and on his face the same whimsical smile with
which he had said to her, “Very prettily staged.
Miss Elinor.” She stared at the picture
through a sudden haze and shut the book
without examining the latter pages.

CHE did not know what was the matter
° with her; to her chagrin she could not
touch the rich bun that accompanied the tea.

"I—it’s a sort of headache. I get them,”
she explained.

As she stood to leave soon afterward, she felt
Mrs. Withington’s hand laid gently on her
arm.

“How young? Nineteen?” The older woman
smiled. “It must be dreadful to be nineteen!
How do you stand it?”

Elinor, wavering between tears and flight,
to her astonishment heard her voice calmly
utter words that were not in her mind and that
she instantly knew to be true.

“It’s no joke,” she stated.

“You dear!” cried Mrs. Withington, kissing
her impulsively. “Now, run along and cure
that head.”

WHEN Elinor reached her room she sat
quietly down on a low chair beside the
window and, her elbow braced against the sill
and her chin propped between her hands, closed
her eyes. At the call to supper she gave a
hostile shiver.

“You’re not eating, darling,” soon came the
plaintive words she had expected.

They irritated her unreasonably. Aunt Mary
was suffocating, like a feather-bed in Summer,
even if she was a little dear. She checked an
ungracious retort that rose to her tongue,
pleaded headache again, and after a remorse¬
ful kiss on her aunt’s cheek escaped once more
to the solitude she craved. She was not ex¬
actly unhappy; she’d be all right when she’d
had time to figure things out; vague thoughts
and feelings were whirling around and fright¬
ening her like bats in the dark.

Of course she did not mind his being mar¬
ried ; she had known it all along; so it was ridicu¬
lous to be upset by this afternoon, that had
accidentally showed her how much he really
belonged to Mrs. Withington and Junior. He
belonged!

She whispered the word curiously again and
again as if its syllables were strange sounds.
It was a word that shut her out, suggesting
something solid and beautiful that she had no
right to monkey with.

Yet a little thrill of conscious power shot
through her as she thought that she could mon¬
key with it, for she could not have been mis¬
taken about that dog business; his avoidance
of her to-day went to prove that. She could
see through his excuses; they were too elabor¬
ate; he overdid them.

Her resolve to be good, made last night,
stiffened. She must help him; she must save

him from himself; she must not tempt him;
she must sacrifice herself for the sake of all of
them. Finding the idea sweet, she prepared
for bed in sober exaltation—nor did she no¬
tice that the word sacrifice had crept in some¬
how since last night.

But sleep did not come; tears instead, tears
for no reason.

“I wonder what will become of you,” ho had
said.

She did not know. She lay there tossing
and wondering, till suddenly she realized that
she was hungry. She made her stealthy way
down to the kitchen, found a cinnamon bun
and a banana, and slept profoundly upon her
return.

THE next day was very hot. The thought
of that swim together that they were not
going to have was in the foreground of her
mirul throughout the advancing day, up to the
moment of three o’clock when he abruptly ap¬
peared before her in the birch seat.

“Say, come on!” he cried buoyantly.

He was so natural, so just exactly as he had
always been, it was so pleasant and right to see
him again, that the past two days were erased
as with the sweep of a sponge.

“All right!” she agreed, and then laughed in
sheer relief. “I’ll be out in a jiffy!”

She flew to the house and into her suit. She
did not think—unless the “just this once”
vibrating in her could be termed thinking.

The first plunge was the sweet, cold shock
she had dreamed of all day. As she emerged
Carter Withington splashed beside her, and
when he came up she looked across co him and
repeated the laugh with which she had greeted
him, an exultant, friendly little sound instinct
with irresistible youth.

“I’ll race you!” she cried.

“Wait till we’re warmed up a bit,” he
answered.

jS^ODDING, sho stretched luxuriously in the
smooth water, swimming slowly away
from the wharf toward the center of the lake.
After a while she turned and floated on her
back. With the blue sky quiet above her, the
blue depth of the water cradling her softly, and
around her a warm, utter silence, she was feel¬
ing the bodily peace of drifting into sleep, when
she sharply wondered where Carter Withington
was.

Beginning to swim again, she lifted her head
to look for him. The imperceptible current
had carried her down till she was opposite the
shore, half-way between the wharf and the
beach. He was not between her and the shore;
but, turning, she saw him below her, a little
farther out.

She had just started toward him to suggest
the beach as a goal for thou - race, when she saw
him splashing oddly and wondered what he
was up to. Then she hurried and lengthened
her strokes in a panic of fear, for he was keep¬
ing it up and something was very wrong with
him. She was now near enough to shout, and
thought he saw her as she called; but suddenly
his hands flew up and with a cry he went down.

She never knew whether instinct, judgment
or accident ruled her; but when he came up she
was within six feet of the spot. He did not
struggle when she seized him; and, with addi¬
tional thanks to the calmness of the water and
the fact that she had not had to exhaust her¬
self in the brief swim to reach him, she got him
to the beach.

Once in the shallows he helped her by drag¬
ging himself up by his hands, and both lay
prone, breathing painfully.

Immediately rousing herself with an effort,
she knelt and began to rub his left log. He
stirred to help her.

“I can do it,” she panted. “I’ll help you try
to get up in a second and then you’ll be all
right.”

A struggle, a tortured grin, and a moment
later he was standing, trembling from weak¬
ness and the sudden release from the cramp.

“Lot’s sprawl a moment to get used to the
idea before we go back,” he suggested quietly.

“Aren’t you done up? Won’t you catch
cold?” she asked in the same tone.

“Not a bit. This sun’s all the doctor I
need. It’s lucky you saw me,” he added,
dropping to the graveled beach.

“It’s lucky you kept yoiu head,” she re¬
plied, settling herself and pulling off her scarlet
cap to release a bright cloud of hair whose
moist tendrils framed her brow and cheeks.

A LONG pause ensued. With her arms

clasping her knees, she sat staring out
across the water, fear and horror growing hi
her till they possessed her quite.

He lay there, with his hands shutting out the
glare from his face. She could hear his breath¬
ing, still a bit convulsive, like her own. But it
might have been otherwise.

“Don’t tell any one,” she whispered unex¬
pectedly.

He turned toward her.

“It would rather upset the apple-cart,
wouldn’t it?” he agreed.

Frightened to find herself unable to speak
steadily, she nodded without shifting her gaze
from the lake as she felt him looking at her
with concern.

“See here, it’s you that’s shivering!”

He had risen with the words, but she sat
stubbornly. When she answered, there was a
tremor in her voice:

“I’m not cold. You go on. I’d rather stay
here alone for a little while.”

He frowned.

“1 can’t do that, you know. Como on
home; that’s what you need.”

He reached down and gently grasped her
hand, holding it in both of his when he had
drawn her up and she stood reluctantly befor >
him. Her eyes were downcast, and her mus¬
cular arms and her fine, straight body under
the shining damp silk of her suit were quiver¬
ing uncontrollably.

“Please don't say anything. I can’t stand
it,” she whispered, trying to withdraw.

But he did not let her go.

Concluded on page 50

# CROMPTON

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CORDUROY

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npHIS double-duty Cordu-
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PAGE 50 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

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Why Buy \

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| BECAUSE—PEQUOTS are the recognized standard |
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This is plainly indicated by the fact that a large number
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| For Quality, Durability and |

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insist upon having PEQUOT— no other is “ just as
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1WIENTHOLATUM cools

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and heals the sun¬
burned skin and relieves the hot, tense feeling
at once. Be sure to take it on your vacation trip.

The itching and sting of insect bites soon vanish under
its gentle, healing touch and leave no trace.

For a throbby, nervous headache, apply it to the temples
and forehead. Relief soon follows.

At all druggists' in tubes, 25c. Jars, 25c, 50c, $1.

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For Sports Wear: “Filet Sweaters”

Learn in One Lesson how to make yours in that attractive publication

Butterick Transfers

For Embroidery,
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25 cents acopy with certificate food for 15 cents in tbe purchase of any Butterick Pattern at any Butterick Pattern Department

Continued from page 14

THE SHADOW OF ROSALIE BYRNES

the entrance gates of gray stone and wrought
iron and the high, vine-covered walls that shut
the grounds in from the road. She had often
glimpsed, as she passed, the red brick of the
house with its many rambling wings.

It had been originally built by an old Dutch
family; from them it had passed through many
hands, each owner building on a wing or alter¬
ing one until the place had come to resemble a
great, forlorn caravansary, its original fine
roof-line lost in outcroppings of cupolas, tow¬
ers and verandas.

In the neighboring house, w r here she had
made her appearance as a professional singer,
she had heard stories of the eccentricities of
its latest owner. Vasco Lemar with his mys¬
terious South American background had at
first filled the house with queerly assorted
guests, but it had been rumored that during
the last year he had not opened the house.

As Rosalie walked quickly along the road,
she tried to recall each comment she had heard
about the house and the habits of its owner.
She thought it was entirely possible that Le¬
mar had not lived in the house recently; but it
did not seen reasonable to her that a country
place of several acres and a house of twenty
rooms or more would not have at least one
caretaker — the probabilities were that there
were several.

Had Lemar counted on the absence of these
servants? No; he had met Leontine acci¬
dentally in the station—if Leontine had told
the truth!—therefore, if there had been no
one in the house to hear Leontine when she
screamed, it was undoubtedly because the
caretaker or servants had chanced to be out
for the evening. If this was the case where were
they now? Had they returned and found their
master lying, as Leontine had described, on the
floor of the library up-stairs?

Would she see the house ablaze with lights
when she finally reached the entrance gates?
Would the alarm already have been sent out?

•

CHE asked herself these questions repeatedly
^ as she drew nearer to the place. And when
she came to the corner at which the high wall
of the Lemar grounds began she was obliged to
stop and draw back into the shadow to get her
breath.

Her heart was pounding so violently that she
felt as if she should smother. At last, how¬
ever, she crept back to the road and went on.

She had come within a few yards of the en¬
trance gates when the yellow light from an au¬
tomobile danced across the roadside shrubbery.
It was coming from somewhere beyond the
curve of the road.

Panic-stricken, she looked about her.
Across the road from the Lemar place there
was a wood which cast a shadow almost to the
entrance gates. It was not fenced or walled
in, and Rosalie stepped across the shallow
ditch at the side of the road into the deeper
darkness under the leafless trees.

Her feet rustled among the deeply piled dead
leaves so loudly that she stood still in the shel¬
ter of a tree-trunk. As she turned to face the
road, she heard the sound of a motor-cycle
mingling with the rapidly approaching purr of
the motor-car. The two passed each other
just whore she had left the road, the motor¬
car coming from the east and the motor-cycle
from the west.

Rosalie’s eyes followed the cyclist untli he
came to the curve of the road. Just beyond
this curve was an arc light, and as she gazed,
its beam fell upon him.

She saw with a tightening of all her nerves
that he was in the dark-blue uniform of some
sort of policeman. As the road along which
she came had been straight, he could easily
have seen her plunge into the wood.

Leaning forward, she strained her eyes after
him; he disappeared around the curve. But
the arc light threw his shadow across the pave¬
ment, and Rosalie saw that he had slowed
down; then he turned slowly and rode back to
the curve, to a point from which he could scan
the stretch of pavement over which he had just
passed.

There was no doubt in her mind, now, that
he was looking for her. He had seen her dis¬
appear, and he was puzzled. But in a second
or two he moved on again around the curve.

TN SPITE of the necessity of haste, she

dared not leave the wood immediately. She
looked behind her, measuring the chances of
escape through it, if she were followed.

The trees stretched away in the shadowy dis¬
tance on either hand, dark against a light snow
which had fallen earlier in the evening. This
snow filled her with terror, for it made every¬
thing lighter, almost as if it were moonlight.

She stood for what seemed a long time,
shivering with nervousness, watching the
curve of the road for the return of the rider,
and listening to the stupendous silence of the
country night.

Presently, she said to herself that she must
go on; every minute lost meant now dangers.
But rather than trust the open road again she
now slipped along under the trees until she
had reached a point opposite the high gray
stone gate-posts.

The drive curved a few yards within the
grounds so that she could not see the house,
and there was nothing for it but to cross the
road and enter the grounds.

Drawing a deep breath, she stepped into the
road. There was no one in sight. She crept in
at the small doorway beside the driveway.

TT WAS not until she had advanced several
1 yards that she caught her first glimpse of
the house. Then she saw that it was dark, at
least the main portion of it. wliich was all she
could see from where she stood.

The relief of this discovery was so great
that she leaned against a tree, trembling.
From this point on she made her way toward
the house, walking from tree to tree, trying to
keep in the shadows.

And behind her, in the light snow that just
powdered the still green lawn, her footsteps
showed, small and distinct.

Sheltered by a clump of shrubbery, she
looked at the dark facade of the house. The
lower windows were boarded and shades were
drawn tightly over the upper ones.

Leontine had told her that she had left
the house by a small door at the side. Could
she find this door, and what if it were
locked?

There was one terrifying stretch of bare,
graveled drive to accomplish before she
rounded the end of the east wing and reached
Continued on page 51

Concluded from page 49

THISTLEDOWN

“There’s not much one can say, little girl,”
he began huskily, “but-”

“Oh, let me go. Let me go!”

“It’s all over now,” he soothed. “Don’t let
what might have happened prey on you.
Remember that you were steady and sure; that
shows you can always count on yourself in an
emergency-’ ’

“It’s not that,” she breathed through lips
twisting to restrain a sob. “Oh, let me go,”
she moaned, beginning to cry.

TTE LAID a hand on her shoulder, still retain-
** ing the tense little fist he had been clasping.

“What is it, Elinor?” he asked worriedly.
“You’ve got to let me help you, you know.
That’s oniy fair, dear child.”

She had reached the end of her self-control.
Pulling her hand loose, she flung both arms
around his neck, crying wildly.

Just at first he held her close and patted her
in a puzzled attempt at comfort. Then, his
face suddenly stamped with a realizing fear, he
made a move to release her; but at this she
pressed closer and urgently lifted her hot
cheeks, where the tears rolled childishly from
under her tight-shut lids.

He inevitably met the lips blindly seeking
his own, then thrust her from him.

“What have I done!” he muttered.

“You didn’t do it,” she sobbed as she turned
in the direction of the cottages. “I did it.”

She started to run, stumbling at first, then
gaining steadiness. When she had disappeared
into the woods he began to follow slowly.

Carter Withington usually took his even¬
ing smoke alone at dusk in the birch seat.
Some time before his customary hour Elinor
secured her canoe in the black shadows of
a group of overhanging bushes just to the left,
and lay down to wait.

She had made excuses to her aunt and was
leaving in the morning. In thus coming to be
near him to-night she had followed her in¬
stinct as simply as she breathed; she would
keep him invisible company, bid him voiceless
lanwell.

It was quite dark before the sound of steps
rewarded her. Suddenly she stiffened.

“I was a little afraid, Carter,” came Mrs.
Withington’s low, worried voice, clearly con¬
tinuing a conversation after an interval of re¬
flection. “I tried to take a hand that day you
were sick, but I fear it didn’t help matters

much. I suspect you’ve been dealing with
that child as if she were a sophisticated married
woman of thirty and it went to her head. Be¬
sides, you're the bright ball just out of
reach -

“I know,” he groaned. “I should have
known better. But it wouldn’t have come
to the pass it did, if it hadn’t been for
that blamed cramp.”

After a pregnant pause Mrs. Withington
spoke again: “Carter.”

“Yes.”

“You mean—you kissed her?”

“N-no—I don’t think I did. In fact, I’m
quite certain I didn’t,” he stated in indubitable
good faith.

“Oh, then she- ”

But he was continuing without hearing his
wife’s sharp and enlightened exclamation.

“How could I, Sue?” he asked simply.

There was a movement, silence, a woman’s
tremulous laugh in which tears quivered ; then,
“Carter, you’re really so sweet, my heart
aches for every other woman.”

“But what’ll we do?” he insisted.

“Listen!”

T EAVES rustled and twigs snapped below
- L j them to the left. A single uncontrolled
sob, the panicky plash-plash of a hurried pad¬
dle, and a canoe cleared the shadows into the
moonlit lake.

It zigzagged crazily at first, then steadied,
as the girl, silhouetted against the pale night,
settled down to a swift, even stroke. But the
straining watchers from the shore, hands
tightly clasped, did not relax till Elinor, now
well out toward the middle of the lake, finally
turned her course and paddled slowly back,
steering diagonally for the dock.

Mrs. Withington was breathing unevenly.

“I wouldn’t have had that happen — and yet
it was surgical—perhaps for the best,” she
murmured.

Then she turned and clung to him.

“Oh, Carter,” she wailed, “it’s so dreadful
to be idle and young and not to know! She’ll
suffer hideously for a while — and then soma
day she may learn what love is —or she may
never— They’re just poor little wisps of
floating thistledown at the mercy of every
breeze •’ ’

He may have understood her. His answer
was a kiss.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1019 PAGE 51

Continued from page 50

THE SHADOW OF ROSALIE BYRNES

the small terrace on to which opened the door
Leontine had mentioned. But this terrace,
when she finally gained it, was in blessed
shadow from the long wing.

Creeping along near to the wall of the house,
she came to a small porch, stepped into it, and
then started back with a catch of her breath.
For the door was a mere black splotch in the
darkness of the porch — it was wide open!
Leontine had fled through it and left it ajar.

T ISTENING, straining her eyes into the
dark beyond the door, she stepped inside.
At the end of what was evidently a narrow,
paneled hallway was a faint gray light.

With one hand feeling the wall, she crept
toward this light and thus came out from un¬
der an archway into a great room extending
up two stories. The faint light was from the
snowy night, and it came through an upper
window at the side of the room.

Standing in the shadow of the archway,
Rosalie looked about this room. Now that
her eyes were more accustomed to the dark, she
could make out a shadowy balcony extending
across the side of the room at the height of the
second story.

A wide staircase curved up to this balcony.
These were the stairs Leontine and Lemar
ascended ; and at the top of them, to the right,
was the door of the room where Lemar -

Her thoughts broke off at this point with
a shudder. Her imagination went ahead of
her up those curving stairs, through that door
at the right, and told her what she should see
when she had entered the library. Covering
her face with her hands, she leaned against
the wall, sick with dread.

“I must not think about it! I must go on!”
6he said to herself. “For their sakes—to save
them — I must go up there into that room -”

AT THE top of the stairway she listened.

The house was absolutely still. She began
to believe that Leontine was right; it was
empty of even a caretaker.

From this moment on she moved swiftly;
her brain seemed to clear itself of its terror and
confusion; some inner strength never sus¬
pected gave her a coolness and a steadiness
that made her feel light and strong.

She opened the door Leontine had de¬
scribed — the second to the right at the top of
the stairs — very softly.

The room was in darkness, although it was
not so dark as the great hall below, for tho
shade across the large window at the end of
the room was not drawn and a certain amount
of light came in from the outside.

She could make out a large table in the cen¬
ter of the room, a high mantel, evidently of
some light-colored stone, a chair or two, a
shaded lamp that was silhouetted against tho
gray oblong of the window. Then she stepped
inside and drew the door to behind her.

YyTTH her hands out before her she felt her
way to the table.

“There’s a divan in front of that table,” she
thought, recalling Leontine’s description. “It
faces the fireplace. Her bag and furs are on
that divan. And on the floor at the other end
of the divan he is lying. It is only a few steps
more. When I reach the table I shall walk
aroimd it and then I shall see — him - ”

Her finger-tips touched the table. She
crept around the table, feeling for the end of
the divan. Yes, here it was.

Her hands slid down to the cushioned seat,
feeling along it for the furs and bag. And she
was thinking that if they were at this end of
the sofa she need not look; she need not see
what was lying on the floor at the other end of
the hearth-rug.

She began to pray, desperately, as her hands
fluttered over the cushions, that soon, soon
they would touch the cool beads of the bag
and the soft warmth of the furs — soon. She
knew she could not stand this blind search
long. She should have to look down at the
hearth-rug, and then her eyes would go to what
lay at the other end of it — and then she should
flee from the room as Leontine had done — if
she did not find what she was looking for
soon.

THE room was dark and absolutely still,
and yet it seemed to her to be clamorous
with a presence, a presence that watched her
and read her inmost soul.

“O God!” she prayed. “Help me to find
them!” And then for the first time it came to
her that perhaps Leontine was wrong; the
bag and furs might not have been dropped on
this sofa; she might have to search the
room.

At this thought she moved farther along the
hearth-rug toward the other end of the sofa.
Her right hand went out along the cushion.
And then her skin crept; a frightful coldness
seemed to sweep in prickling waves over the
whole surface of her body.

For her fingers had touched something cold,
cold with an unmistakable clammy chill — a
hand that lay inert and bloodless upon the
cushions of the divan.

With a gasping sob she stood upright in the
middle of the hearth-rug, staring with strain¬
ing eyes into the dark. She could make out a
black huddle of something that lay against the
sofa-arm, something large and quiet.

How long she stood there she did not know;
but slowly her frozen brain began to stir, to
account for this unseen terror.

Leontine had declared that Lemar had fallen
to the floor to the left of the fireplace; she de¬
scribed how she had seen his head hit against
the book-shelves that lined the wall. He lay,
she said, with his feet on the hearth-rug and
his head against the lowest shelf. Slowly,
with an effort of will that seemed to wrench her
very soul, Rosalie compelled her eyes to turn
to that spot.

The faint gray light from the unshaded win¬
dow came in and fell upon the floor in front of
the book-shelves. It vaguely touched the
fringe of the hearth-rug, the strip of polished
floor beyond it, the lowest row of books.

And that was all. Where Lemar’s body

should have lain, where she had steeled herself
to see it lying, there was nothing.

r jpHEN all at once her self-control gave way.

Panic horror of the whispering darkness
swept her. She threw herself toward the table
and the lamp, her Angers fumbling desper¬
ately.

That one instant was like an indescribably
dreadful nightmare in which she knew the
light was all that could save her. But at last
after interminable effort her fingers found the
chain that lighted the lamp.

The light spread in a circle, over the table,
the sofa, toward the fireplace and the book¬
shelves. And it fell strongest upon a shape
that lay huddled grotesquely over the arm of
the sofa, as if it had fallen there limply.

The head and shoulders and right arm
drooped, face down, over the arm of the divan,
and tho left arm lay palm up, twisted under the
body, on the dark-blue cushions. It looked as
if the man had fallen there from a position
facing the sofa.

Rosalie from the opposite side of the table
stared with the expression of one hypnotized.
Her first sensation was one of a semi-nauseated
repulsion, so unnatural, so disregardful of all
tho human proprieties, appeared this huddled
mass whose face she could not see.

Then a thought whipped her brain to ac¬
tivity: how had he got there? She had every
reason to believe that Leontine had truthfully
described the position of the body as she had
last seen it.

Could it be that he had risen to his feet and
fallen where he now lay? If so, he must have
done so after Leontine fled.

Then she had not immediately killed him, as
she believed she had done!

Rosalie crept around the table to a point
where she could peer at the man’s face. But
before she had been able to force herself to this
ordeal she saw something that sent a shiver
over her. His body was lying across Leon¬
tine’s black fox furs, which had evidently been
thrown over the arm of the sofa. And prob¬
ably there also, among the cushions, crushed
by tho weight of him, was the bead-embroi¬
dered bag she must recover.

A FIT of shivering, violent and nauseating,
swept over her. She closed her eyes and
reeled back against the book-shelves.

It was in this moment, the worst she had
known since that dreadful evening began,
while she stood there with her eyes closed, that
there came to her an experience she was never
to forget as long as she lived.

There had swept over her a wave of repug¬
nance for what she had to do so weakening
that she entered that shadowy borderland
where the body, half-fainting, loosens its hold
on the spirit, which seems to withdraw itself
and stand watching. She knew she had to go
to that huddled mass which had been Vasco
Lemar and lift it off the furs and the bag.

And while every atom of her body shrank
from this contact, her spirit seemed to raise a
whip over her flesh, driving her pitilessly on.
With the expressionless eyes of a sleep-walker
and her face absolutely blank and white, she
moved slowly across the rug toward the mo
tionlass body on the sofa, coming as she did so
into the ring of light from the shaded lamp.
And it was just as she entered this zone of
light that she heard the voice.

TO HER ears it sounded far away, but dis-
1 tinct and clear. It was Gerald’s voice—
she knew it instantly—and it said, “Rosalie!”

It arrested her where she stood like a ringing
command. The thought that came to her in¬
stantly was, “He has come to help me — be¬
cause he is dead!”

Slowly, with a frightful effort, she lifted her
gaze from the body of Lemar to that shadowy
space of the room from which the voice had
come. So certain was she of what she was
going to see that there was no shock in the
vision she then had of a figure in uniform
standing in the doorway.

The face was only a pale blur, and the figure
melted into the gray background; but she
knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt. This
certainty drew from her a cry that was poign¬
ant with sorrow and longing:

“Ah, Gerald! My dear — my dear - ”

The figure in the doorway moved into the
room. She watched it without fear, only with
the thought that in a moment it would vanish
and that would be all, it would be the last, the
end. She did not move or lift a hand, but her
great eyes followed the shadowy movement.

And then, after all, it was an ordinary,
every-day sound that shocked her out of the
borderland between the real and the unreal.
It was nothing less, or more, than the creak of
a closing door. The shadowy figure had
reached a hand out behind him and drawn to
the door!

^T THIS sound it seemed as if her spirit
clicked back into her body. The ex¬
altation of anguish gave place to terror.

She thought she was going crazy, or her
senses were playing tricks with her. Stepping
backward, she faced the dark reaches of the
room beyond the lamplight, waiting, with her
hands clutched together at her breast.

And thus it was that she stood when the in¬
distinct figure moved out of the farther
shadows into the lighted space in front of the
fireplace. The light winked from buttons and
shoulder-bars. She lifted her eyes to his face.

And then, with an inarticulate sound, she
swayed; her arms went out beseechingly.
There followed an instant of time when the
world was absolutely dark and she seemed
sinking very quietly, without a struggle, into
nothingness.

r p'HE next thing she was aware of was a cool
wind blowing her hair about her temples.
Her hat was off, and her cheek was pressed
close against something warm, rough and
woolly.

It was a contact so familiar, so comforting,

Continued on page 5 2

Never Again

Will She Try To Bake Beans

Tliere is one clish which the oldest
cooks and wisest do not now attempt
to bake.

Scientific cooks—men with college
training- — have revolutionized Baked
Beans. Under their direction — at
Van Camp’s—the dish has been bet¬
tered tenfold. Now Van Camp’s are
served in hotels or homes where people
seek the best.

A Four-Year Study

These culinary experts at Van Camp’s
devoted four years to Baked Beans.
The old - time dish was very hard to
digest. It was crisped and broken and
mushy. The tomato sauce was not
zestful. One by one they solved these
cooking problems.

First, they studied beans. They found
that the best beaus grow on certain
rare soils, and now we always get them.
They found that those beans differed,
so now each let is analyzed before we
start to cook.

New-Way Baking

They then instructed the Van Camp
chefs in new ways of cooking and bak¬
ing. Now the beans are always boiled
in water freed from minerals. That
insures tender skins.

They are hidden in modern steam
ovens—baked for hours at 245 degrees.

Thus the beans are fitted to digest. Yet
this live-steam baking leaves the beans
uncrisped and unbroken — nut-like,
meal) 7 and whole.

856 Sauce Formulas

Other experts worked on the sauce.
They made it in 856 different ways to
attain this ideal tang and zest. That
sauce is baked with the pork and beans
so that every granule shares it.

Such beans cannot be baked in ordinary
kitchens. The dish requires analyses,
costly facilities, scientific methods.
We spent $100,000 in learning how to
make it.

The wise way is to always serve Van
Camp’s. Then the dish is delicious and
digestible. Compare it once with others
and you’ll see.

Pork and Beans

Baked With the Van Camp Sauce—Also Without It

Other Van Camp Products Include
Soups Evaporated Milk Spaghetti Peanut Butter
Chili Con Carne Catsup Chili Sauce, etc.

Prepared in the Van Camp Kitchens at Indianapolis

Van Camp’s Soups
18 Kinds

Famous French recipes per¬
fected by a hundred of these
scientific tests.

A great Italian rec¬
ipe made vastly more
delightful.

Van Camp’s
Peanut Butter

Made from a blend of
toasted nuts with every bitter
germ removed.

PAGE 52 THE DELINEATOR EOR AVGUST., 1919

Use

Open - Mouthed
Hygeia

Don’t

Use

Narrow- Neck

Weaning time is any time when the mother
fails to nurse her baby. It may be soon after
the child is born. It may be some months later. Always an
important time — sometimes critical — the Hygeia Nursing
Bottle gives the weaning baby a breast so natural, so much
like the mother’s that the child will go to the Hygeia naturally.

Weaning time

Bottle

You can clean and sterilize the wide-mouthed Hygeia Nurs¬
ing Bottle as easily as you can a tumbler. It has no danger-
spots, no hard-to-reach places where germs can multiply.
Don’t use the old-fashioned narrow-neck bottle.

The genuine has the name Hygeia on both breast and
bottle. Breasts come in both red and black rubber. For
sale in all drug stores. Made only by

THE HYGEIA NURSING BOTTLE CO., 1206 Main Street, Buffalo, N. Y.

Dealers; Motion-Picture Slides wilh your name on sent Free. Write.

BUTTERICK

PATTERN

PRICES

Buy patterns at the nearest
Butterick agency. But if this is
not convenient, they will be sent,
post free, at 30 cents each for
Ladies’ or Misses’ Dress or Coat
patterns and 25 cents each for
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ATLANTA, GA.,.79-89 Marietta Street

TORONTO, CAN.,.468 Wellington Street, West

WINNIPEG, MANITOBA,.319 Elgin Avenue

Continued from page 5 1

THE SHADOW OF ROSALIE BYRNES

that she was incredulous of it. She moved her
head a trifle, scraping her cheek ever so tenta¬
tively against the cloth upon which it rested.

At the same time she became aware of her
right hand, the Angers of which had closed on
and were holding desperately to another hand,
a warm, flesh-and-blood hand. And also there
was a whispering going on from lips that now
and then touched her cheek, little, endearing
words, words of entreaty, of reassurance.

Very slowly, for fear she might be wrong, for
fear the least movement would bring the whis¬
per to a stop and cause the warm hand and
the rough, warm contact of the cloth under
her cheek to vanish, she lifted her chin and
looked up.

There was no doubt now; the incredible
miracle had happened; somehow, in some way
she did not then feel the least curiosity about ,
Gerald had come to help her, to save her from
what she had to do. A wonder, a happiness
so intense it was pain, surged through her.

There was nothing in the whole uni verse for
her except the fact that her head was on Ger¬
ald’s breast, his arms held her in their circle of
protection, his lips were against, her forehead.
The words they whispered to each other were
incoherent, without sense and wholly futile to
express what they felt.

HUT tins divine madness of joy could last
only a few instants. Gerald lifted her to
her feet and with his arm about her whispered:

“We must get out of here, sweetheart.
What was it you were going to do as 1 came
in?”

The question recalled her to their situation.

“How did you get here?” she whispered
back. “Did you know I-

“I’ve seen your sister,” he replied, a hint of
grimness in his voice. “But I’ll tell you about
it when we’re out of this place. Those things
you came out here for—have you found
them?”

She winced as she led the way back to the
hearth-rug and averted her head as Gerald
bent over the crumpled form on the divan.
She stood with her back to them, trembling
now from the reaction of her emotions.

She could hear the light scraping of cloth on
cloth as G erald evidently turned on to its back
the body of Lemar. There was a pause that
seemed interminable. And then an exclama¬
tion from Gerald.

She turned and looked at him. He was
bending over Lemar, one hand at the limp
wrist and the other unbuttoning the vest.

“Look here this man isn’t dead!” he cried in
a low voice. “His heart is beating. He’s lost
a good deal of blood from the blow on the tem¬
ple, and he evidently hit his head somewhere
when he fell, but there’s a pulse, though it’s
very slow.

“Help me lay him down flat—take his feet—
that’s right—now pull those furs out from
under him—put a cushion under his head.
Right! Now, take the shade off that lamp.”

"VX/HTH the discovery that Lemar was not
v ' dead, the weight of a mountain was lifted
from Rosalie’s heart. She felt equal to any¬
thing, cool and strong.

Her blood seemed moving through her veins
for the first time since Leontine had staggered
into her sitting-room that evening. She put
aside all questions as to the marvel of Gerald’s
presence there; she only knew that he had
lifted her unbearable burden off her shoulders.
She felt a sense of security, almost of peace,
as she watched him making a hasty examina¬
tion of the inert man before him.

In a moment he straightened himself, and
she saw that his face had grown anxious.

“We must have a stimulant of some kind!”
ho exclaimed. “Look around the room. His
pulse is very slow. We can’t have him dying
now.”

Rosalie began to make a hurried search of
the room. She found a carved mahogany cel-
larette, and after a good deal of fumbling the
spring that opened it. But it was empty of
everything save a siphon of water and several
glasses.

She brought a glass of the water to Gerald
and he poured some between Lemar’s set
jaws. The man looked so ghastly that Rosa¬
lie had to force herself to stand there near

him.

The blood had dried and clotted on the right
side of Iris face, closing naturally the cut
on his temple. But he was a frightening gray-
white, with blue shadows under his pouchy
eyes.

Rosalie knew that Gerald was more con¬
cerned than he cared to show. He took a
turn about the room as if he was thinking hard.
Rosalie’s eyes followed him anxiously.

Then, as if he had made up his mind, he
came back to her.

“WE’VE got to get a doctor here for him,”

v v he said briefly. “Do you know whether
the telephone is connected or not?”

“Oh, but, Gerald! We should have to tell a
doctor the whole story! And then if Lemar
dies we—we-

Their eyes met. She saw that Gerald’s face
had grown haggard, but his eyes were steady.

“I know—-that’s a chance we take. But
there’s nothing else to do. I don’t believe
Lemar will live till morning without medical
attention. He was in no condition to resist
the shock and the loss of blood.

“And he’s very low now. I’m sure a doctor
could pull him through, but without one—-
And then there’s a chance he may not be
found quickly. Don’t you see he’s got to
have a doctor?”

Rosalie looked from the dead-white face on
the sofa, a face in which each line of dissipa¬
tion and degradation showed repellantly, to the
face of the man she adored. He had grown
thinner since she saw him last; he had lost his
boyishness, but she knew that she loved him a
thousand times more than she had even in
that hour when he said a good-by that for all
she knew might be his last.

She loved him for his quiet strength, for Ins
tenderness, and now for the determination

that was in Ms eyes. But because she adored
him, she felt a swift rebellion against doing
what he proposed.

She saw the consequences of the act in all
their details — the disgrace, the scandal that
would now involve Gerald as well as herself.
And all for a man without whom the world
would be better off.

“Gerald—I can’t, I can’t!” she cried. “I
can’t let you do it! Gerald, I came here to
save you from the disgrace—more to save you
than my sister.

“I couldn’t bear it, to think of your being
dragged into this. I was willing to do any-
tMng to save my sister, so that you would not
suffer through us. And now you undo every-
tlnng I have done; you risk discovery for your¬
self, when I would give my life to prevent it!”

I IE TOOK her in his arms and laid a hand on
* 1 her hair. There was a smile of such
sweetness and tenderness in his eyes that the
tears sprang to hers.

“My darling little wife, don’t I know why
you came here? You’re the bravest and the
best in the world. And I’ve got to make it up
to you for what I did when I was crazy with
jealousy and suspicion and grief.

“For your sister’s sake tMs man must live.
And Ms only chance is a doctor. There’s
nothing else to consider besides that.”

“But why, oh, why, should you risk scandal
and disgrace for such a man — even for my sis¬
ter? Gerald, if you’ll only go, I’ll telephone,
myself, and then I’ll join you down the road
somewhere before the doctor can get here - ”

He shook his head. She tightened her arms
about Mm.

“Gerald, for the sake of your mother, for
the sake of your uniform - ”

He sighed, but the determination in his eyes
did not weaken.

“T KNOW! It's gomg to be bad all around,
1 but I'm going to see it through. Now,
listen, dear—as soon as I’ve got a doctor
on the wire, you're to go out the way you camo
in, turn to the right when you reach the road,
and walk along it about half a mile.

“You’ll come to a small inn that is just be¬
yond a big clump of cedar-trees. Go in there
and wait for me. If I don’t come in forty
minutes-”

But at this her eyes began to blaze. Her
mouth stiffened and her head went up.

“No!” she cried. “I don’t mtend to leave
tins house until you leave it. I know you’re
right about sending for a doctor, and if you
can risk everything I can at least stay with
you!”

“But, Rosalie, I don’t want you to stay—I
want you out of tins thing completely.”

“Through me this horrible thing has hap¬
pened to you—do you think I’m gomg to leave
you to face everything alone? No; I ’m going
to stay, and if worse comes to worst I’m going
to tell exactly the truth-”

“But your sister-”

LJER blue eyes were like gems.

A A “I shall never sMeld her at yom - expense,
Gerald, and you needn’t ask me to. You arc

my man — nothing matters besides that - ”

In his desperation he clutched her shoulders
and gave her a little shake. “Rosalie, if I’m
yom - man 1 have the right to be obeyed. I
command you to promise me you’ll do exactly
as I say-”

“No!” Then - eyes met, in hers an invincible
will, m Ms an admiring despair. She sprang at
the telephone—all their conversation had been
in low, hurried tones, for each felt the pressure
of the passmg minutes—and put her hand on
the receiver. But Gerald, taking her firmly
by the shoulders, pushed her to one side.

“I’ll do the telephoning at least,” he said
grimly. “The next village is Riverdale, isn’t

it?”

He had half lifted the receiver from its
hook, when he glanced at the door and the

window.

“By George, those shades have been up all
the time! Pull them down, and then go out
into the hall and listen. You think the house
is imoccupied?”

Nodding, she noiselessly slipped through the
door that led to the landing. The library door
opened on to the balcony that ran across the
width of the great room below.

By leaning over the tapestry-hung railing
she could see the stairway curving up from the
dimness below, and the archway beyond,
through which she had entered. All was still
and dark.

She was about to return to the library when
something seemed to detain her. She hung
over the rail, starmg down mto the hall
straining her ears.

For she knew that just as she had straight¬
ened up she had heard a sound. It was
muffled, as if it came from some remote part
of the rambling old house, but there was no
mistaking it; it was the sound of a closing door.

CHE remained frozen in her listening atti-
° tude, her eyes fixed on the darkness be¬
low. And thus she saw the very flrst faint
gleam of a light that fell in a long finger across
the floor below beyond the stairway.

It grew brighter and moved a little over the
polished floor, as if some one carrying a lantern
was moving slowly nearer along a hallway that
opened out of the main hall. It held her fas¬
cinated, motionless, until two sounds broke the
spell of the new terror that bound her — the
sound of a voice, and then a key unlocking a
door near her, a door that was somewhere off
to her left, down the corridor she had noticed
as she came up the stairs, a shadowy corridor
that led, she supposed, to the bedrooms, pos¬
sibly to a service stairway.

But this new sound was so startling that it
left her no mclination to investigate it. Some
one was on the second floor and coming nearer.
She sprang toward the library door and closed
it behind her, turning the key in the lock.

“Turn out the light, quick!" she whispered.
“They’re coming!”

To be concluded

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 53

I

THE LITTLE
RED HEN

A PLAY TO ACCOMPANY
CUT-OUT ON PAGE 18

TN THE play are: The Little Red Hen,
1 The Pig, The Cat and The Dog.

The Play takes place in the Farmyard.
There is a Gate on one side of the Yard that
opens, and an Oven with a door that opens
on the other. Beyond the Fence, over the
Hill, is a Mill. A Grain of Wheat lies on
the Ground.

FIRST SCENE

(The Little Red Hen comes in in search of
something to eat. Soon she finds a Grain of
Wheat.)

The Little Red Hen says: I have found
a seed! It is a grain of wheat. I will sow this
seed and when it grows I will gather the wheat
and make some bread.

(The Pig, The Cat and The Dog come slow¬
ly in through the Gale.)

The Little Red Hen says: I have found
a grain of wheat. Who will help me sow
it?

The Pig says: Not I.

The Cat says: Not I.

The Dog says: Not I.

The Little Red Hen says: Then I will
sow it myself.

(The Pig, The Cat and The Dog go slowly
out. When The Little Red Hen has sown
the Wheat, she goes out with much energy.)

SECOND SCENE

(A Stalk of Wheat has come up where the
Seed was planted. The Little Red Hen
comes in with a Sickle. She is followed by
The Pig, The Cat and The Dog.)

The Little Red Hen says: See! The
Wheat is up! It must be cut. Who will help
me reap the Wheat?

The Pig says: Not I.

The Cat says: Not I.

The Dog says: Not I.

The Little Red Hen says: Then I will
reap it myself.

(The Little Red Hen cuts the Wheat with
her Sickle while The Pig, The Cat and The
Dog go slowly out. When the Wheat is cut , The
Little Red Hen leaves the Wheat on the
Ground and goes out with much energy.)

THIRD SCENE

(The Little Red Hen comes in with a Flail.
She is followed very slowly by The Pig, The Cat
and The Dog. The Stalk of Wheat is lying on
the Ground where she cut it.)

The Little Red Hen says: Now the
Wheat must be threshed. Who will help me
thresh it?

The Pig says: Not I.

The Cat says: Not I.

The Dog says: Not I.

The Little Red Hen says: Then I will
thresh it myself.

(The Pig, The Cat and The Dog go slowly
out, while The Little Red Hen threshes the
Wheat with much energy; then she goes out,
leaving the Wheal on the Ground.)

FOURTH SCENE

(The Little Red Hen comes in with a
Sack. She gathers the Wheat off the Ground and
puls it into the Sack. When she has finished,
The Pig, The Cat and The Dog come slowly
in.)

The Little Red Hen says: Now the
Wheat must be ground to Flour. Who will
help me carry the Sack to the Mill?

The Pig says: Not 1.

The Cat says: Not I.

The Dog says: Not I.

The Little Red Hen says: Then I will
carry it myself.

(The Little Red Hen takes the Sack and
starts off briskly to the Mill. The Pig, The
Cat and The Dog watch her go out and then go
slowly through the Gate.)

FIFTH SCENE

(The Little Red Hen comes in with a Sack
of Flour. The Pig, The Cat and The Dog
come in after her.)

The Little Red Hen says: Now the Flour
must be made into Bread. Who will help me
make the Bread?

The Pig says: Not I.

The Cat says: Not I.

The Dog says: Not I.

The Little Red Hen says: Then I will
make it myself.

(The Pig, The Cat and The Dog stand
round and watch The Little Red Hen while
she makes the Bread. When the Bread is made.
The Little Red Hen puts it into the Oven.
They All watch the Oven. In a while The
Little Red Hen takes the Bread out of the
Oven and puts it down on the Ground.)

The Little Red Hen says: Now the
Bread is baked. Who will help me eat the
Bread?

The Pig says: I will!

The Cat says: I will!

The Dog says: I will!

The Little Red Hen says: No, you shall
not! You would not help me sow the Wheat,
reap or thresh it. You would not help me
carry it to the Mill or make the Bread. So I
shall eat it myself.

(The Little Red Hen eats the Bread while
The Pig, The Cat and The Dog go slowly
out.)

(Four children can take part in this play,
speaking the lines intended for the four cha¬
racters, or, one child can speak all four parts.
It will be great fun for the speaker to make
his voice resemble the growl of the dog, the
miau of the cat, the squeal of the pig and the
cackle of the hen. Just a little practise and
your voice will imitate any of these creatures.
Perhaps you can make the little creatures
speak and act so perfectly that you can give
a real play and invite all the grownups to the
performance!;

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PAGE 54 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

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Continued from p age 16

DARYA

business enterprises for diversion, for love of
“art,” or for the bushels of money she made.
She had become famous for her “innovations”
and her “discoveries.”

She was still holding my bewildered atten¬
tion with the story of her discovery of Daisy
when the orchestra fanfare sounded again. It
was the summons for “Darya” — the name, too,
I later learned, had been given her by Mrs.
Atteridge, as to an infant in baptism. I ob¬
served that Sands accompanied her down¬
stairs.

I remarked that he seemed devoted.

“Darya is very much admired,” Mrs. At¬
teridge said complacently. “Mr. Sands, I
think, is quite serious. She'll be a fortunate
girl.”

It happened, after all, that Daisy and I
didn’t have our home-town gossip that night,
but she gave me her address, and invited me,
including Jeff with a deeply shining look, to
come for tea the next afternoon.

Daisy’s little salon (designed by Mrs. At¬
teridge, of course) stamped on my mind the
theatrical completeness of her metamorphosis.
It had silver-colored walls, I remember, and
black-enameled furniture, and silver-black-
and-goid-striped hangings. I thought of the
old Holmes cottage on Catalpa Hill, the un¬
painted picket fence, the woodbine climbing
over the porches. Daisy had come a long
way, and Mrs. Atteridge was convinced it was
a “development.”

THEN Daisy came in to greet us—Darya,
1 1 should say. She was smartly dressed,

and wore her air of sophistication. But in
her talk, her manner, her interest in affairs
back home, she herself seemed really sweet and
wholesome.

There was much I wanted to hear from her,
and she talked frankly, raining praises upon
her benefactress, marveling at her good luck,
modestly discounting her merits. Ingenuously
as a child she told how the papers fought to
display her photographs in new array, how her
clothes were so copied that she was always
having to replace them, how dressmakers
clamored to make her, without charge, gor¬
geous new costumes, how manufacturers of
beauty creams besieged her, how makers of
moving-pictures trailed her.

To her, it seemed, the situation was partly a
joke; but also, judging from a serious little ex¬
pression which at times flickered across her
eyes, it was very much of a miracle.

“TT IS nice to have lots of pretty things, and
to be admired, and not need to worry
about money — don’t you think so?”

Jeff said nothing, but Darya warmed him
again with a bright, interested gaze.

“You remind me of a friend of mine, Profes¬
sor Quigley,” she said. “He says, ‘If you will
make a man happy, add not to his riches, but
take away from his desires.’ ”

Little imps were dancing behind the long
fringe of her eyes, and the smile he returned her
was half-sheepish, so I knew she was quoting
from his own book. He cleared his throat
before he spoke.

“Please don’t make me out so conceited,” he
said. “If any one’s success—if your success
brings you happiness—and of course it does—
you should be proud.”

She interrupted him, and now the little imps
had got into the cadence of her voice;

“I have another friend who says that those
are amusing people who are proud of things
which are not in their power. For instance,
a man says, ‘I'm better than you because 1
possess much land, because I have higher
rank, or because I have curly hair.’ But a horse
doesn’t say to another horse, ‘I’m superior to
you because I possess more fodder, because my
bits are of gold and my harness is embroi¬
dered; but he says, ‘I’m swifter than you, and
every animal is better or worse because of his
own merit or his own lack of it.’ ”

T REMEMBER how Jeff, sober as an owl,

sat staring at her, and how he started to
speak.

I refused to referee her little game of co¬
quetry, her artful stealing of Jeff’s own
weapons. When we left, shortly after, he
found his tongue to pour out enthusiasms
about her extraordinary intelligence. Of
course he found her intelligent — a woman who
could quote pages of his own book! I made a
satirical comment to this effect, adding that I
knew a dozen other college girls who could talk
“intelligently.”

“But she’s a dancer! And so natural and
sweet, with all her good looks and gorgeous
get-up. It seems incredible that she could
look like that, and still have brains.”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t start inscribing
poetry to her!” I begged.

But that is exactly what he did do.

The outcome was that Jeff, silent, sweet-
natured and baggy-kneed professor of phi¬
losophy, looked at shining Darya, Broadway’s
dancing-favorite, and was moved — by eternal,
mysterious processes which had lain twenty-
nine years waiting for this moment — to fall in
love with her. And the poetry, the Are and
idealization of the man, all but swept even
Darya, "development,” sophistication, gilded
success and all, clean off her feet. This I
gathered from a letter from Jeff which I re¬
ceived three weeks after I left New York.

The letter itself was in the nature of a poem.
He was touchingly grateful to me, poor fel¬
low, for having brought the miracle to his
reach. They were not definitely engaged yet,
but— I understood Jeff when he wrote in
that strain; there was no doubt of his hopes or
of his happiness.

' [ ’HE news made me glad, too—for both of
A them. Though I could comprehend her un¬
usual success, yet she was a Kansas girl—and
I’m old-fashioned.

So I had my mouth all fixed to make pretty
speeches when I returned to New York, the
middle of September—and found she had
turned him down!

Jeff came to my hotel, gray and smoldering

of eye, the volcano now pitiably spent—con¬
suming itself within. Incoherent in his ex¬
planations, he asked that I go with him to see
her. He had the idea, I believe, that I might
say something to change her.

So we two went again to that black-and-
silver-and-gold drawing-room. And again
Darya came in to us, smartly dressed in a
shimmering gold-colored garment, her- dark
hair groomed to that sleek luster that Kansas
girls never achieve.

She conventionally shook hands with each of
us. But I could see she was nervous, too.
The spots on her cheeks were deep-colored like
rouge; her hands were uneasy; and her shoul¬
ders twitched when Jeff spoke.

“Well,” I said in a desperate attempt to be
jovial, “it was nice to invite me to the post¬
mortem. Now you give your evidence,
young lady.”

CHE turned startled, shining eyes toward me,

swallowed, and caught her breath. I felt
sorry for her, but I felt sorrier for Jeff with his
somber eyes.

“It’s this way, I take it,” I went on. “You
encouraged Jeff because you thought you
loved him. Then you decided you didn’t love
him enough; is that it?”

She swallowed again, and I could see the con¬
vulsive working in her throat.

“Yes,” she said. Then quickly, “I want to
tell you two, now, first of anybody, that I’ve
accepted Mr. Sands.”

I didn’t look toward Jeff; I couldn’t bear to.
I waited a moment; then, hearing no sound
from his direction, I said:

“Then you love Mr. Sands more than Jeff?”

She caught her two hands together, then let
them drop, like weights, to her lap.

“No — Yes — That is — in a strained
voice.

Then suddenly she leaned forward, twisting
her hands into a tight knot, her voice coming
with hard, unnatural haste, like water from a
broken spigot.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking—that it’s
the money and the gay life and all. And you
think I’m despicable and sordid. But I am
fond of Johnny. He’s so witty and entertain¬
ing, and always so good-natured.”

“Good traits in a husband,” I commented.
“And if, as you say, you love him more than
Jeff - ”

“Oh, no!” she interrupted impetuously. ‘‘I
didn’t say that! I’m fond of Johnny, and I’m
fond of Jeff, too! If only—” She paused,
gave a ghost of a laugh, and with that uncon¬
scious play-acting the best of women can bring
to the most solemn of occasions she took on a
prim expression. “I really believe, sometimes,
that it’s not in me to love - ”

For my part, I began to regret coming.

“VI/ELI,, if that’s the case,” I said, striving

v for a tone of finality, “it seems to no
purpose -

But she broke in again with a rush of words
and a deepening of the crimson on her cheeks
(no, it was not rouge) addressing me as if her
words were all meant for Jeff, sitting there as
dumb as a gate-post.

“I want you to understand! If one doesn’t
really love — you know—one might as well—
Oh, I know my weakness; 1 like to play games
with myself—not admit unpleasant truths—
enduring artificialities—practising them, ar¬
guing it all out to my conscience. Perhaps I
am, sordid!”

Scarcely pausing, she turned toward Jeff,
looking at him directly for the first time that
evening, and, finding self-possession in self-
abasement, in an almost normal tone she went
on:

“You see, you’re lucky, Jeff. I’m all fake.
Even my looks — they’re just clothes. I’m
really plain. Ask Mr. Hicks.”

J EFF, hunched back there in his comer, his
eyes blazing so that he looked half-wild,
could only give a hoarse mutter to the effect
that he knew what he loved in her and that she
needn’t fear he'd be cheated.

For myself, I couldn’t help thinking that if
she was really concerned about the shallowness
of her “lure,” why didn’t she fear for its wear¬
ing qualities with such a knowing, blase indi¬
vidual as Sands, who, if he’d met her in the old
days, would have noticed her no more than a
turnip?

I didn’t voice this aspect of the case, but
somehow I had the odd feeling that Daisy
wanted me to say something of the kind. I
caught her looking at me with a sort of pa¬
thetic appeal in her deep-fringed eyes.

What kind of help was she tacitly beseech¬
ing? Aid in showing Jeff his hopeless folly?
Or — and this notion struck me in a flash—had
she got me here to persuade her against herself
-— to argue down her weakness and send her
into Jeff’s arms?

I don’t know, even to this day. And, had I
been convinced that the latter was the true
motive, even then I’d have hesitated to fall in
with her plan.

Perhaps my attitude was wrong, but, you
see, the girl was to me but a half-known quan¬
tity. If I’d been more sure of her —- But
New York is a crucible so huge that, when a
human atom once is drawn into its vortex, no
one save God can be sure what chemical
change is wrought. Even you, the veriest
commoner, when you are in New York, feel
that hot, white, hypnotic glamour.

GO IT was that I, with those mute, appeal-
^ ing eyes of hers on me, found myself ut¬
terly helpless. I sat there on an absurd black-
and-gold chair, hot and uncomfortable, and
perplexedly eyed the resplendent surroundings
-—rich food for doubt.

Jeff, too, as if catching my meaning, eyed
them, in a sort of despairing inventory. His
fixed faith, I suppose, was finally crumbling.

I don’t wonder! Looking round that ex¬
pensive flat, I'd have paused over the job of
making its mistress happy-—unless I were a
Johnny Sands, say.

Concluded on page 55

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 55

Concluded from page 5 4

DARYA

“Well, Daisy” — I answered her appeal
cheerfully as I might and achieving inanity—
“however you want to run down your looks,
they’re all to the good. And Sands is to be
congratulated on getting a nice, sweet girl in
the bargain. I hope you’ll both be happy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hicks.” Then, turning,
in the gentle tone one uses with a child:

“Won’t you wish me happiness, too, Jeff?”

“T WON’T! I can’t!” he flamed, his face at
once passionate and pleading, his voice
blended violence and yearning. “I can’t let
you go—let you get swallowed up in that false,
blatant, accursed life! You don’t know it—
don’t know yourself! You’re blinded. Listen,
Daisy”—he had, catching it from me, always
called her by the old name — “you’re not made
for all that rank artificiality. And Sands - ”

Ho started to rise, sank heavily back in his
chair, and his voice, hot and sharp, broke like a
shattering coal.

Darya let her eyes fall a long moment, then
in a weary kind of voice said:

“It’s no use, Jeff. I’ve made up my mind.
It’s better this way. You’ve idealized me.
We’ll both be happier. I suppose” — trying
to smile — “that I am sordid.” Her humility
sat oddly, pathetically, on her magnificence.

My duty, I knew, was to get Jeff away as
quickly, as unemotionally as possible. I
wanted to take him to his rooms, but he
wouldn’t let me.

A DAY or so after that her engagement to
Sands was annoimced in the papers, and
because of the prominence of both was
bruited, with an endless succession of photo¬
graphs, all over the country.

Jeff took it hard. Fortunately his class-
work was again beginning, but he couldn’t put
his heart in it.

It was the third week in October that he
struck another trail.

He chanced to hear of a small group sailing
for France (this was during the third month,
you remember, of the great war); not glori¬
ously to fight, nor spectacularly to report, nor
eminently to wield the surgeon’s knife. Only
five or six men, aflame and earnest, very much
of Jeff's temperament, I fancy, who couldn’t
boar not to give their mite to help when so
much help was needed.

As to detail, their aims were rather vague,
but humble and sincere—just to get where
they could nurse, or cook, or scrub.

Jeff, meeting one of these men a week before
their departure, was fired overnight. The
very next day he made his college arrange¬
ments. And the next day, his name, along
with those of his prospective companions, fig¬
ured unobtrusively in the morning paper.

TTNOBTRUSIVE as it was, Darya found it.
^ Before noon she telephoned me at my
hotel. Even over the wire her voice betrayed
her agitation.

Was it true? . . . Oh, he mustn’t be al¬
lowed to go — it was dangerous. . . . Yes, she
knew how Jeff was, when his heart was set on a
thing, but . . . we must do something!

Would I come up to see her and talk it over?
No; would I bring Jeff, and we’d all talk?

“I really don’t know whether he’ll come,
Daisy,” I explained as gently as I could.
“Anyway, I don’t believe you could shake liis
resolution.”

“Bring him to me, Mr. Hicks,” she pleaded
in a voice colored with repressed sobs

Then, quickly, with a hard catch: “No —
take me to him; I want to go to him.”

That is how Darya and I happened to pay a
visit, in the late afternoon that October day,
to a little flat up on Morningside Heights.
Jeff, who was expecting only me and who was
as disheveled as only a man can be who must
do his own packing, advanced whistling, saw,
paled, clutched his pipe, retreated.

Just within the door she stood, tense, her
voice quivering forward like a timid little
scout.

“Don’t turn away from me, Jeff. Don't go
away from me. I can’t stand it.

“If you must go, take mo with you. Take
me with you anywhere — anyway— in rags, if
you say so. ‘Whither thou goest’— like in the
Bible, you know.

“Oil, Jeff” — one tentative step forward—
“Jeff, stay with me or take me with you.”

It is not for me to describe further that
scene. Anyway, each of you can, in your
heart, see it better than I could describe it.

That was how Darya passed. Great was
the commotion the marriage raised.

New York, I believe, thought her mad — and,
indeed, by its tenets, she was.

Darya was no more — dead as the orchids she
had worn, and by now she is almost forgotten.

Yes, Darya in her turn died, and Jeff Quig¬
ley’s wife was born. The Great War lifted her
out of herself and showed her realities — Love
and Service.

Concluded from page I 9

GREAT-GRANDFATHER’S CAR

her, and if he once got into the library, ab¬
sorbed in a book, he would go on forgetting
her. Neither her mother nor her father knew
where she was; Henry was away; deaf Sarah,
ironing in the kitchen, would scarcely hear if
some one knocked the house down ; people sel¬
dom passed on the lonely road; there seemed
to Bettina nothing for it but to endure, as well
as she could, her two hours of captivity.

Bettina, turning from the window, surveyed
the attic’s desolation.

"PROM the top of the trunk-pile Bettina
dragged down a steamer-trunk and pulled
it across the floor to the open window. With
her chin in her palms and her elbows on her
knees she sat rather glumly on her hard bench,
looking sometimes down the twisting road out¬
side and sometimes at the bare attic inside.
She found nothing very inspiring in either
place.

Bettina’s bed was hard and hot, and the flies
swarmed in at the open window to crawl
stickily over her as she lay, and yet in spite of
it all Bettina fell asleep. She awoke an hour
later wondering where she was and squealing
a little when she sat up, for her legs ached and
her arm was full of prickles.

“I went to sleep,” she said, coming to her
feet. “My arm hasn’t waked up yet. I wish
I’d slept two hours, but it was only a minute.

“I can’t stand this any longer. I’m mad
enough to knock the house down. If only I
could find something to ram that door!”

The trunks, she knew, were empty; there
was no use in searching them. The attic
floor was straight and bare; not a loose stick to
help her. There was no loft. Bettina stood
looking around helplessly.

THE peaked roof came down steeply on each
side of the attic so that close under the
eaves there was not standing-room — only
about three feet between the roof and the
floor. For the first time Bettina noticed that
this three feet of wall space was boarded up
against the beams of the side-wall, making a
line of pockets along the side of the attic.

Bettina crept in under the eaves on the east
side to explore the cubby-holes for a possible
battering-ram. She went down the length
of the attic, thrusting her arm into each pocket
as far down as she could reach, but finding
nothing.

In the first cubby on the second side her
hand struck something hard only a few inches
down. She grasped it joyfully and drew it
out.

“Only a book,” she said, disappointed. “It
looks stupid too; only a history. Oh, there’s
another one; maybe that’s more interesting.
No, it’s just the same thing.

“Anyhow this hole’s full of them, and I
might just as well pull them out while I’m
about it.”

She did it recklessly, tossing one book
down on top of the other until she had a
tumbled pile on the floor. Then as -she began
on a second cubbyhole her eye fell for the first
time on the title of the book and she stopped
short.

“Gee!” she exclaimed in her brother’s slang.

“What do you know about that!” and fell to
work harder than ever; but she handled the
books more carefully now.

She cleared three hidey-holes of their books as
far down as she could reach, and went back to
the window for a breath of air after her hard
work. Around the curve of the road she
caught the sound of hoofs trotting rapidly.

“Tad’s remembered,” she laughed to her¬
self. “He’s pushing old Bess even though it’s
so hot. I know what I’m going to do.”

Turning, she ran to her pile of books, gath¬
ered up an armful and at the top of the stairs
began swiftly to outline with the books the
form of a car, body, radiator and wheels. It
took three trips to get books enough; and as
she rounded the last wheel she heard the door
slam down-stairs.

With a little giggle Bettina sat down in the
body of her car, smoothed down her skirts and
lay back flat on the floor. The car was just
big enough to hold her.

Then as the bolt scraped in the attic door
and the door was flung open, Bettina pulled
her mouth into a solemn line, closed her eyes
and crossed her hands on her breast.

“TJET,” called Tad’s voice from below, but
she did not answer.

“Bet,” Tad called again half-way up, and
came scrambling on.

At the top he stopped short. Bettina had
fooled him a good many times, but Tad’s con¬
science was very pricky just now, and maybe
Bettina had fainted in spite of her warm
color.

He knelt down beside her to take her hand,
and Bettina looked up and very gravely
winked at him.

“Don’t stop my car, if you please, sir,” she
said.

Tad looked at her, forgetting his repentance
in his wonder that his peppery little sister
wasn’t angry. Then his eye dropped on the
line of books and he settled back on his heels in
amazement.

“ ‘The History of My State, by Thaddeus
Gordon,’ ” he read. “Great Scott! Where
did they come from?”

J^ETTINA sat up and pointed, “From those
cubbyholes where great-grandfather stowed
them away probably when he couldn’t sell them,
and all his nine children forgot all about
them.”

“And you found them! Gee, that’s great!
There are dozens of them! Five dollars apiece,
dad said. I guess you’ve got your car all
right, Bet.”-

“It’s part yours,” said Bettina, springing to
her feet. “I’d never have found them if you
hadn’t locked me up here.”

“Come to think of it,” grinned Tad, “I
guess the car belongs to Great-Grandfather
Gordon, doesn’t it? Dad can’t say he won’t
approve of it when he gives it to us. Hello,
where are you going. Bet?”

“To tell mother and get a drink and cool off
and apologize to my great-grandfather,”
called back Bettina at the foot of the stairs.
“I’m going to tell him I’m sorry that I said
ancestors were no good.”

PACE 56

TIIE DELINEATOR TOR AUGUST, 1919

BAKING POWDER

the

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The pure, natural phosphates used in RUMFORD increase
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Write today for a free copy of “ The Rumford Way of Cookery and Household Econ¬
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Y-75 the RUMFORD COMPANY, Dept. 14, PROVIDENCE, R. I.

See How
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Made only by ATLANTIC TUBING CO., Providence^ R. I.
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REAL SERVICE

PRACTICAL

HELP FOR YOU

Good Manners and Good F orm.

PART VII

ENTERTAINING

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Good Manners and Good Form

PART IV

AT THE TABLE

A man should never seat himself at the table iff ad¬
vance of the women. The younger women should wait
for the older ones, and all should remain standing until
.the hoete88 is se ated. At the table one should not*
lounge back inthe chair nor lean forward nor should thO
chair be tipped in any way. The waistline should bo
Jnches fror^i^jc edge of

IMMENSELY POPULAR ARE OUR ETIQUETTE
LEAFLETS. SEE FIRST COLUMN HEREWITH

YOU, YOURSELF

ETIQUETTE—Do we know how to pre¬
sent a gentleman correctly to a lady? Do we
know just how to accept a formal invitation
■written in the third person? Do we know
the correct forms for wedding ceremonies?
For traveling? Does our manner of clutching
a fork betray our ignorance of correct manners
at table? Are we seriously in distress every
time we give a party or are entertained, for
fear we may not “do the right tiling?”

Mrs. John Cabot Kimberly can give you
simple formulas to steer you through these
perplexities. Write for these booklets:

Introductions, Invitations and Replies.

Calls and the Use of Cards.

Courtesies of To-day between Men and
Women.

Weddings.

T ravel.

Entertaining.

At the Table.

Any three of these will be sent for a two-cent
stamped, self-addressed envelope.

BEAUTY—Nine out of ten beautiful
women are such through their own efforts.
Write to Celia Caroline Cole, the Beauty
Editor, for advice and for her invaluable
booklets:

Care of the Complexion.

Care of the Hair and Scalp.

Home Treatment for the Hair and Scalp.

Facial Blemishes.

Facial Exercises and Massage to Reduce
Wrinkles.

Care of the Hands.

Rules for Maintaining Health.

Howto Keep Cool and Attractive inSummer.

Don’t You Want to Be Thinner?

Don’t You Want to Be Fatter?

Any three of the above will be sent for a two-
cent stamped, self-addressed envelope.

“Beauty and Health through Proper Exer¬
cise” is an exceedingly valuable book which
will be sent on receipt of the price, twenty-four
cents.

HANDWRITING—The flourish of an R
or a D or an L may betray your innermost
trait of character. Helene Grandet is figura¬
tively a “seer” who professes to read char¬
acter in handwriting. Send her your favorite
quotation, written in ink. Enclose a stamped,
self-addressed envelope and twenty-five cents.

YOUR BABY

INFANT HYGIENE—You can double his
chances for life by taking proper care of your¬
self during the nine months before he is born.
Miss Van Blarcom’s new pamphlet, “Advice to
Expectant Mothers,” has been prepared with
the help of the country’s foremost obstetri¬
cians. It contains the advice they give to
their patients concerning diet, sleep, exercise,
clothes, recreation, and how to prepare for ma¬
ternal nursing, the most important single factor
in saving baby life.

So scientific and yet so simple is it that a
world-famous obstetrician is using it among
his patients and at hospitals with which he is
connected. Any reader of The Delineator
may have such care by applying to Carolyn
Conant Van Blarcom, our Infant-Hygiene
Editor, for her new booklet, “Advice to Ex¬
pectant Mothers.” Write to Miss Van Blarcom
for any of her booklets:

Rules for the Nursing Mother.

Daily Schedule for the Feeding and Care of
Your Baby during First Year.

Daily Schedule for the Feeding and Care of
Your Baby during Second Year.

Summer Care of Baby.

How to Organize a Baby Health Center.

Outline for Talk on the Care of Babies’ Eyes.

Directions for the Care of Your Baby’s Eyes.

Suggestions for Organizing Local Work to
Prevent Blindness among Babies.

Information about Present Laws in Your
State for Saving Sight of Babies.

Weight-Chart for Baby’s First Year.

Any three of these will be sent for a two-cent
stamp.

YOUR HOME

HOMEMAKING—Make one recipe do
the work of ten! That is the new trick which
Flora G. Orr will explain to you. She wlil

send you a master rule for making ten kinds
of cakes from one recipe.

Hang over your kitchen table the card
she sends. Here it will always be in full
sight as you whisk up the dough for any of
your favorite cakes. Send to Miss Orr for:

A Master Rule for Cakemaking. One Recipe
to Make Nine Different Kinds of Cake.

A Master Rule for Frozen Desserts. One
Recipe will Make Ten Different Kinds.

Government and State-College Bulletins on
Homemaking.

List of Labor-Saving Devices.

Any three of these will be sent for a two-cent
stamped, self-addressed envelope.

INTERIOR DECORATION—Good taste;
practical new ideas for small homes and large.
Be sure to ask particularly for suggestions
about choosing your curtains. Notice, too.
the importance of having a Sunshine Home
as explained elsewhere in this issue and write
to the editor for advice. Clearly and fully
explain your needs to the Interior-Decoration
Editor.

Enclose a two-cent stamped, self-addressed
envelope.

YOUR PLEASURE

ENTERTAINMENT—No matter what
kind of entertainment you desire to give,
Edna Erie Wilson, the Entertainment Editor,
will help you plan it. Write to her, stating
the time you desire to give your party, how
many guests you will have, and how much
you can spend. Ask, too, for—-

(a) Method of Pretending toTell Fortuneshy
Magic Water; and (b) Directions for Using
the Game of Flower-Petal Charms for
August Parties.

Enclose a two-cent stamped, self-addressed
envelope.

MUSIC—The titles and lists of selections
of records, of rolls that you personally need.
All musical information. Write for these lists:

Songs by American Composers.

Violin Selections by American Composers.

Piano Selections by American Composers.

Some Worth-While Records.

Some Worth-While Rolls.

Pieces Your Children Will Like to Practise.

Any three of these will be sent for a two-cent
stamped, self-addressed envelope.

BOOKS — Elizabeth Seymour, the Book Edi¬
tor, has a list of recent novels, relating to the
United States, with a few books of travel, which
will make good Summer reading.

Enclose a two-cent stamped, self-addressed
envelope.

YOUR COMMUNITY

YOUR HOME TOWN—For more beautiful
surroundings, more healthful conditions, hap¬
pier social life, consult the Community Editor.
Send, too, for—

List of Rural Pageants.

Songs for the Home Town to Sing.

List of Phonograph Records for Community
Singing.

Any three of these will be sent for a two-cent
slumped, self-addressed envelope.

AID FOR FRANCE

OUR BRAVE ALLY needs our help to
rebuild her homes and especially to restore
“The Town of the Golden Book,” which The
Delineator readers have undertaken to re¬
habilitate. “Planting the Tree of Joy in
France” is a booklet that tells you exactly
what you can do to hell)—from making gifts
of money down to making rag rugs or wearing-
apparel. Address your request for it to The
Erench-Relief Editor.

Enclose a two-cent stamp.

ADDRESS ALL LETTERS TO THE
DELINEATOR SERVICE DEPARTMENT,
BUTTERICK BUILDING, NEW YORK
CITY.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919 PAGE 57

Their name describes them.Their taste
mah.esyou want more

For the afternoon refreshment
served with tea, chocolate or
lemonade they will confer
distinction upon the
occasion.

Rick chocolate biscuit sandwiched
with a delicious tilling of creamy
goodness.

A toothsome cocoanut tidbit
suggestive of tne macaroon.

A fine hard sweet biscuit, serve

with any beverage.

A unique preparation of figs
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True to its name, a Biscuit whose
goodness every hostess knows.

A quaintly flavored biscuit slightly
sweetened—well baked
to a golden brown.

Say Zu Zu to the grocerman for this
spicy, snappy Ginger Snap.

A sugar wafer suited to all social
functions especially as a dessert.

The best soda cracker in the world.

Twin wafers, crisply thin, with a Cris P brown squares of

delicate salt flavor. nourishment. A food for

strength.

PACKAGES WHICH BEAR THE STAMP OF A NATION’S APPROVAL
The In-er-seal Trade Mark is a symbol of quality and national goodwill. Although biscuit have been baked for 6,000
years it remained forthe National Biscuit Company to give them a new character, a new meaning-and to market
them in packages proof against air.dirt.moisture and handling.lhe biscuit are superior, the protection is superb.Keep an
assortment of liB.Cvarieties in your cupboard.They are ever ready to serve,and so are a boon to housewife and hostess.

PAGE 58 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

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K ELLOGG’S —the
original toasted corn
flakes — was created on
the principle that healthy
appetites want not only
nourishment but flavor.
So Kellogg’s studied na¬
ture’s way — found how
nature stored up her flavor
materials, and brought out
all that added goodness.

Thus, Kellogg’s became
the famous flakes, toasted,
crisp, full-flavored, golden
brown bits of purity which
are brought to you oven-
fresh in the Kellogg wax-
tite package which must
bear the signature shown
above.

Copyright, 1919, by Kellogg Toasted Corn Flake Co.

the original toasted corn flake

“won its favor through its flavor”

TIIE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 59

0

Co n I i lined from page 9

HILLS OF HAN

At half-past four Mrs. Hasmcr sent her hus¬
band to look into the situation. He reported
that they were hard at it. Betty looked a
little tired, but was laboriously repeating Li
Hsien's words in English, in order that Mr.
Brachey might take them down in what ap¬
peared to be a sort of shorthand.

Doctor Hasmer didn't see how he could say
anything. Not very well. They hadn’t so
much as noticed him, though he stood near by
for a few moments.

Which report Mrs. Hasmer found mascu¬
line and unsatisfactory. At five she went her¬
self, took her Battenberg hoop and sat
near by.

Betty saw her, and smiled. She looked dis¬
tinctly a little wan.

The journalist ignored Mrs. Hasmer. He
was a merciless driver. Whenever Betty s at¬
tention wandered, as it had begun doing, ho
put his questions bruskly, even sharply, to call
her back to the task.

Four bells sounded up forward. Mrs. Has¬
mer started and, as always when she heard
the ship's bell, consulted her watch. -Six
o'clock!

She put down her hoop: fidgeted: got up: sat
down again: told herself she must consider the
situation calmly. It must be taken in hand, of
course.

The man was a mannerless brute. He had
distinctly encroached. He would encroach
further.

He must be met firmly, at once. She tried
to think precisely how he could be met.

CHE got up again; stood over them. She
° didn't know that her face was a lens
through which any and all might read her per¬
turbed spirit.

Betty glanced up; smiled faintly; drew a long

breath. .

Li Hsien rose and bowed, clasping his hands

before his breast.

Mr. Brachey was writing.

Mrs. Hasmer had tried to construct a little
speech that, however final, would meet the
forms of courtesy. It left her now. She said
with blank firmness:

“Come, Betty!"

“One moment!” protested Mr. Brachey.
“Will you please ask him, Miss Doane, whether
he believes that the general use of opium has
appreciably lowered the vitality of the C hinese

people? , ,

“That is, to put it conversely, whether the
curtailment of production is going to leave a
people too weakened to act strongly in a mili¬
tary or even political way ? Surveying the
empire as a whole, of course.”

Betty’s thoughts, which had wandered
hopelessly afield, came struggling back.

“I _ I’m sorry,” she said. “I'm afraid I

didn’t quite hear.”

“I must ask you to come with me, Betty,
said Mrs. Hasmer.

At this, looking heavily disappointed, Mr.
Brachey rose; ran a long, bony hand through
his thick hair.

. “We could take it up in the morning, he
said, turning from the bland young Chinaman
to the plainly confused girl. “That is, if Miss
Doane wouldn’t mind staying on the ship. I
presume she has seen Nagasaki.

His perturbed eyes moved at last to the
little, elderly lady who had seemed so colorless
and mild; met hers, which were, of a sudden,
snapping coals.

“You will not take it up again, sir! cried
Mrs. Hasmer; and left with the girl.

The Chinaman smiled, clasped his hands,
bowed with impenetrable courtesy, and with¬

drew to his quarters.

Mr. Brachey, alone, looked over his notes
with a frown; shook his head; went down to
dress for dinner.

T ATE that night Betty sat in her tiny state-
l j room, indulging rebellious thoughts. It
was time, after an awkwardly silent evening to
go to bed. But instead she now slipped into
her heavy traveling-coat, pulled on her tam-
o’-shanter, tiptoed past the Hasmers’ door and
went out on deck.

It was dim and peaceful there. The throb
of the engines and the wash of water along the
hull were the only sounds. They were in the
strait now, heading out to sea.

She walked around the deck, and around.
It was her first free moment since they left the
Pacific ship at Yokohama. Very quietly —
sweetly, even — the ehaporonage of Mrs. Has¬
mer had tightened then.

For Betty tho experience was new and diffi¬
cult. She felt that she ought to submit. But
the rebellion in her breast, if wrong, was real.
She would walk it off.

Then she met Mr. Brachey coming out of
the smoking-room. Both stopped.

“Oh!” said he.

“1 was just getting a breath of air,” said she.

Then they moved to the rail and leaned
there, gazing off at the faintly moonlit land.

He asked, in his cold way, how she had
learned Chinese.

“I was born at T’ainan-fu,” she explained.
“My father is a missionary.”

“Oh,” said he. And again, “Oh!”

Then they fell silent. Her impulse at first
was to make talk. She did murmur,'“I really
ought to be going in.”

But he, apparently, found talk unnecessary.
And she stayed on, looking now down at the
iridescent foam slipping past the black hull,
now up into the luminous night.

Then he remarked, casually, “Shall we
walk?” And she found herself falling into
step with him.

They stopped, a little later, up forward and
stood looking out over the forecastle deck.

“Some day I’m going to ask the chief officer
to let me go out there,” said she.

“It, isn't necessary to ask him,” replied Mr.
Brachey. “Come along.”

“Oh,” murmured Betty, half in protest;
“really?”

But she went, thrilled now, more than a
lit tle guilty, down the steps, past patches and
donkey-engines, up other steps, under and over

a tangle of cables, winches, over an immense
anchor, to scats on coils of rope near the very
bow.

The situation amounted already to a secret,.
Mrs. Hasmer couldn’t be told, mused Betty.
The fact was a little perplexing. But it
stood.

NT EITHER had ment ioned Mrs. Hasmer.

^' But now he said:

“I was rude to-day, of course.”

“No,” said she. “No.”

“Oh, yes! I'm that way. The less I see of
people the better."'

This touched the half-fledged woman in her.

“You’re interested in your work,” said she,
gently. “That’s all. And it’s right. You’re
not a trifler.”

“I'm a lone wolf.”

She was beginning to find him out-and-out
interesting.

“You travel a good deal,” she ventured, de¬
murely.

“All the time. 1 prefer it.”

“Always alone?”

“Always.”

“You don't get lonesome?”

“Oh, yes. But what does it matter?”

She considered this. “You go into danger¬
ous places.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You traveled among the head-hunters of
Borneo.”

“How did you find that out?”

“There's an advertisement of that book in
‘To-morrow hi India.’ ”

“Oh, have you read that thing?”

“Part of it. I - ”

“You found it dull.”

“Well -it's a little over my head.”

“It’s over everybody’s. Mine.”

CHE nearly laughed at this. But he seemed
° not to think of it as humor.

“Aren’t you a little afraid, sometimes —
going into such dangerous places all alone?

“Oh, no.”

“But you might be hurt—or even — killed.”

“What’s the difference?”

Startled, she looked straight up at him;
then dropped her eyes. She waited for him to
explain, but he was gazing moodily out at tho
water ahead.

The soft, night air wrapped them about like
dream velvet. Adventure was astir, and ro¬
mance. Betty, enchanted, looked lazily back
at the white 'midships decks, bridge and wheel-
house, at the mysterious rigging and raking
masts, at the foremost of the huge funnels
pouring out great rolling clouds of smoke.

The engines throbbed and throbbed. Back
there somewhere the ship’s bell struck, eight
times for midnight.

“I don’t care much for missionaries,” said
Mr. Brachey.

“You’d like father.”

“Perhaps.”

“He’s a wonderful man. He’s six feet five.
And strong.”

“It’s a job for little men. Little souls.
With little narrow eyes.”

“Oh — no!”

“Why try to change the Chinese? Their
philosophy is finer than ours. And works
better. I like them.”

“So do I. But - ”

She wished her father could be there to meet
the man’s talk. There must surely be strong
arguments on the missionary side, if one only
knew them. She finally came out with:

“But they’re heathen!”

“Oh, yes!”

“They ’re — they’re polygamous! ’ ’

“Why not?”

“But Mr. Brachey—” She couldn’t go on
with this.

The conversation was growing rather
alarming.

"CO ARE the Americans polygamous. And
the other white peoples. Only they call it
by other names. You get tired of it. The
( hinese are more honest.”

“I wonder,” said she, suddenly steady and
shrewd, “if you haven’t stayed away too long.”

His reply was:

“Perhaps.”

“If you live—you know, all by yourself, and
for nobody in the world except yourself — I
mean, if there’s nobody you’re responsible for,
nobody you love and take care of and suffer
for -”

The sentence was getting something in¬
volved. She paused, puckering her brows.

“Well?” said he.

“Why, I only meant, isn’t there danger of a
person like that becoming — well, just selfish?”

“1 am selfish.”

“But you don’t want to be.”

“Oh, but I do!”

“1 can hardly believe that.”

“Dependence on others Ls as bad as grati¬
tude. It is a demand, a weakness. Strength
is better. If each of us stood selfishly alone, it
would be a cleaner, better world.

“There wouldn’t be any of this mess of obli¬
gation, one to another. No running up of
spiritual debt. And that’s the worst kind.”

Betty was being rapidly swept off her men¬
tal feet.

“But suppose,” she began, a little afraid of
getting into depths from which it might be
difficult to extricate herself, “suppose—well,
you were married, and there were — well, little
children. Surely you’d have to feel responsi¬
ble for them.”

“Surely,” said he, curtly, “it isn’t necessary
for every man to bring children into the world.
Surely that’s not the only job.”

“But— but” — his phrases frightened her a
little; she was edging away from them — “take
another case. Suppose you had a friend, a
younger man, and he was in trouble — drink¬
ing maybe; anything! — wouldn’t you feel re¬
sponsible for him?”

“Not at all. That’s the worst kind of de¬
pendence. The only battles a man wins are the
ones he wins alone. If any friend of mine—
Continued on page 60

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PAGE 60 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

CH

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55

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3

Ibanez , the Author of

“The Four Horsemen
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gives a stimulating expression of a European’s
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“The Land of Bluff”

in the September issue of The Delineator.

Do not fail to read this great Spanish author’s
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America has been reading for the past year.

Colonel Roosevelt’s
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Miss Josephine Strieker

in the September issue of The Delineator
will relate personal anecdotes of the great chief,
giving an intimate personal view of the man
never before revealed.

What is “Romantic Reconstruction” ? Do you
get on as well with your soldier-boy as you did be¬
fore he went away? What is the way to treat his
moods—his new point of view? These problems
of the war bride and the war fiancee are discussed in

u

Teach Him to Laugh”

by Marguerite Mooers Marshall

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“ Don’t Tell Dad”

by

Alice Dyar Russell

— author of “Plain Gingham
with a Hem,” which was
published in the June issue of
The Delineator—•

and

“The Wheeler,” by Judge Henry A. Shute

author of “The Real Diary of a Real Boy ”

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Continued from page 59

HILLS OF HAN

man or woman—can’t win his own battles—
or hers—he or she had better go. Anywhere.
To heJ, if it comes to that.”

He Quite took her breath away.

CANE bell sounded.

“It’s perfectly dreadful,” said she. “If
Mrs. Hasmer knew I was out here at this time
of night, she’d-”

This sentence died out. They went back.
“Good night,” said she.

She felt that he must think her very young
and simple. It seemed odd that he should
waste so much time on her. No other man she
had ever met was like him. Hesitantly, desir¬
ing at least a touch of friendliness, on an im¬
pulse, she extended her hand.

He took it; held it a moment firmly; then
said:

“Will you give me that drawing?”

“Yes,” said she.

“Now?”

“Yes.” And so she tiptoed twice again
past the Hasmers’ door.

“Please sign it,” said he, and produced a
pencil.

“But it seems so silly. I mean, it’s nothing,
this sketch.”

“Please!”

So she signed it, said good night again, and
hurried off, her heart in a curious flutter.

PJ NWILLING either to confess like a

naughty child or to go on keeping this
rather large and distinctly exciting secret un¬
der cover, Betty, at tea-time, brought the
matter to an issue. The morning ashore had
been difficult. Mr. Brachey had severely ig¬
nored her, going about Nagasaki alone, lunch¬
ing in austere solitude at the hotel.

She said, settling herself in the deck chair:
“Mrs. Hasmer, will you ask Mr. Brachey to
have tea with us?”

After a long silence the older woman asked,
stiffly:

“Why, my dear?”

Betty compressed her lips.

Doctor Hasmer saved the situation by say¬
ing, quietly, “I’ll ask him.”

It was awkward from the first. The man
was angular and unyielding. And Mrs. Has¬
mer, though she tried, couldn't let him alone.
She was determined to learn whether he was
married.

She led up to the direct question more ob¬
viously than she knew. Finally it came.
They were speaking of his announced plan to
travel extensively in the interior of China.

“It must be quite delightful to wander as
you do,” she said. “Of course, if one has
ties— You, I take it, are an unmarried man,
Mr. Brachey?”

Betty had to lower her face to hide the color
that came. If only Mrs. Hasmer had a little
humor! She was a dear, kind woman; but
this-!

The journalist looked, impassively enough,
but directly, at his questioner.

She met his gaze. They were flint on steel,
these two natures.

“You are obviously not married,” she re¬
peated.

He looked down at his teacup, thinking.
Then, abruptly, he set it down on the deck;
got up; muttered something that sounded like,

“If you will excuse me-” strode away.

Betty went early to her cabin that evening.
She had no more than switched on her light
when the Chinese steward came with a letter.

She locked the door then, and looked at the
unfamiliar handwriting. It was small, round,
clear; the hand of a particular man, a meticu¬
lous man, who has written much with a pen.

She turned down the little wicker seat. Her
cheeks were suddenly hot, her pulse bounding
high.

She skimmed it, at first, clear to the signa¬
ture, “Jonathan Brachey;” then went back and
read it through, slowly.

I was rude again just now (it began).

As I told you last night, it is best for me
not to see people. I am not a social
being. Clearly, from this time on, it will
be impossible for me to talk with this Mrs.
Hasmer. I shall not try again.

I could not answer her question. But
to you I must speak. It would be diffi¬
cult even to do this if we were to meet
again, and talk. But, as you will readily
see, we must not meet again, beyond the
merest greeting.

I was married four years ago. After
only a few weeks my wife left me. The
reasons she gave were so flippant as to be
absurd.

She was a beautiful and, it has seemed
to me, a vain, spoiled, quite heartless
woman. I have not seen her since.

Two years ago she became infatuated
with another man, and wrote asking me to
consent to a divorce. I refused on the
ground that I did not care to enter into
the legal intrigues preliminary to a di¬
vorce in the State of her residence.

Since then, I am told, she has changed
her residence to a State in which “de¬
sertion” is a legal ground. But I have
received no word of any actual move on
her part.

It is strange that I should be writing
thus frankly to you. Strange, and per¬
haps wrong. But you have reached out
to me more of a helping hand than you
will ever know.

Our talk last night meant a great deal
to me. To you I doubtless seemed harsh
and forbidding. It is true that I am
that sort of man, and therefore am best
alone. It is seldom that I meet a person
with whom my ideas are in agreement.

I trust that you will find every happi¬
ness in life. You deserve to. You have
the great gift of feeling. I could almost
envy you that. It is a quality I can per¬
ceive without possessing.

An independent mind, a strong gift of
logic, stand between me and all human
affection. I must say what I think, not

what I feel. I make people unhappy.

The only corrective to such a nature is
work, and, whenever possible, solitude.
But I do not solicit your pity. I find my¬
self, my thoughts, excellent company.

With your permission I will keep the
drawing. It will have a peculiar and
pleasant meaning to me.

T3ETTY lowered the letter, breathing out
the single word, “Well!”

What on earth could she have said or done
to give her any such footing in his life?

She read it again. And then again.

An amazing man!

She made ready to go to bed; slowly; daw¬
dling ; trying to straighten out the curious emo¬
tional pressures on her mind.

She read the letter yet again; considered it.
Finally, after passing through many moods
leading up to a tender sympathy for this bleak
life, and then passing on, through bewilder¬
ment, into a state of sheer nervous excitement,
she deliberately dressed again and went out on
deck.

He stood by the rail, smoking.

“You have my letter?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ve read it.” She was oddly, hap¬
pily relieved at finding him.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

She had no answer to this. It seemed hardly
relevant.

They fell to walking the deck. After a time,
shyly, tacitly, a little embarrassed, they went
up forward again.

The ship was well out in the Yellow Sea now.
The bow rose and fell slowly, rhythmically, be¬
neath them.

Moved vaguely but strongly to meet his let¬
ter with a response in kind, she talked of her¬
self:

“It seems strange to be coming back to
China.”

“You’ve been long away?”

“Six years. My mother died when I was
thirteen. Father thought it would be better
for me to be in the States.

“My uncle, Father’s brother, was in the
wholesale hardware business in New York, and
lived in Orange, and they took me in. They
were always nice to me.

“But last Fall Uncle came down with rheu¬
matic gout. He’s an invalid now. It must
have been pretty expensive.

“And there was some trouble in his busi¬
ness. They couldn’t very well go on taking
care of me, so father decided to have me come
back to T'ainan-fu.” She folded her hands in
her lap.

LJE LIGHTED his pipe, and smoked re¬
flectively.

“That will be rather hard for you, won’t it?”
he remarked, after a time. “I mean for a per¬
son of your temperament.

“You are, I should say, almost exactly my
opposite in every respect. You like people,
friends. You are impulsive, doubtless af¬
fectionate.

“I could be relatively happy, marooned
among a few hundred millions of yellow folk—
though I could forego the missionaries. But
you are likely, I should think, to be starved
there. Spiritually— emotionally.”

“Do you think so?” said she, quietly.

“Yes.” He thought it over. “The life of a
mission compound isn't exactly gay.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you need gaiety.”

“I wonder if I do. I haven’t really faced it,
of course. I’m not facing it now.”

“Just think a moment. You’ve not even
landed in China yet. You’re under no real
restraint—still among white people, on a
white man’s ship, eating in European hotels at
the ports.

“You aren’t teaching endless lessons to yel¬
low children, day in, day out. You aren’t shut
up in an ulterior city, where it mightn’t even
be safe for you to step outside the gate-house
alone.

“And yet you’re breaking bounds. Right
now — out here with me.”

A LRE AD Y she was taking his curious blunt¬
ness for granted. She said now, simply,
gently:

“I know. I'm sitting out here at midnight
with a married man. And I don’t seem to
mind. Of course you’re not exactly married.
Still — a few days ago I wouldn’t have thought
it possible.”

“Did you tell the Hasmers that you were out
here last night?”

“No.”

“Will you tell them about this?”

She thought a moment; then, as simply, re¬
peated :

“No.”

“Why, not?”

“I don’t know. It’s the way I feel.”

He slowly nodded. “You feel that it’s none
of their business.”

“Well—yes.”

“Of course, I ought to take you back, now.”
“I don’t feel as if I were doing wrong. Oh, a

little, but - ”

“I ought to take you back.”

She rested a hand on his arm. It was no
more than a girlish gesture. She didn’t no¬
tice that he set his teeth and sat very still.

“I’ve thought this, though,” she said. “If

I’m to meet you out here like —like this-”

“But you’re not to.”

“Well —here we are!”

“Yes—here we are!”

“I was going to say, it’s dishonest, I think,
for us to avoid each other during the day. If
we’re friends-”

“If we’re friends we’d better admit it.”
“Yes. I meant that.”

LJE FELL to working at his pipe with a
pocket-knife. She watched him until he
was smoking again.

“Mrs. Hasmer won’t like it.”

“I can’t help that.”

“No. Of course.” He smoked. Suddenly
Continued on page 61

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 61

Continued from page 2 2

IN PAWN TO A THRONE

have given you up, just remember this: I shall
move heaven and earth to get you.”

She did not protest, did not try to make him
renounce his declaration. Without another
word, without a handclasp, they parted—
parted more like enemies between whom open
war has been declared than like lovers re¬
nouncing each other for an ideal.

TOURING the following few weeks it needed
all the grim determination in Elihu’s na¬
ture to keep him from despair. On all sides he
heard talk of the coming marriage of the
diadoque with the flower of Greece.

He went often to the Acropolis; she never
did. Contrary to his former experience he did
meet her a number of times in society. Yet
these meetings were almost worse than none,
so hedged about was she by members of the
court circle.

One day he went boldly to her house to call—
and she was “not at home.” He knew she
would not be at home to him, as he knew she
would not come to the Acropolis. The knowl¬
edge did not prevent each lingering hope from
dying hard.

Then came the day of days for all Ameri¬
cans, the sixth of April, nineteen hundred and
seventeen.

At the legation there was a real celebration
in the hearts of all, though its outward mani¬
festation was only to work harder than ever in
turning over the affairs of those of the bellig¬
erents they represented to the legations of
states that still remained neutral.

Elihu did not return home till past midnight.
His key had not yet found the keyhole when
the door was thrown open by Panaghiote,
wearing an air of the utmost importance.

INDICATING the drawing-room with head

and hand, Panaghiote said in an impres¬
sive whisper:

“Our lady is in there! It is a matter of
great importance. She is not even accom¬
panied by Spiro Millioti!”

Quickly Elihu went into the drawing-room,
and Artemis rose to her feet as he entered.

“What is it? Is there any trouble?" he
cried.

“Yes, there is trouble, serious trouble. Mr.
Peabody, your country to-day declared war
against Germany. That is why I can ask
your help.”

“You could have asked it without a declar¬
ation of war.”

“I am asking it in the name of your coun¬
try, the ally of France and England. Mr.
Peabody, I own an old Byzantine cross to
which a prophecy is attached. In 1453, when
the Mohammedans entered Constantinople,
they took it from my family.

“For centuries my family and the Greek
Church himted for it, because the prophecy
said that when it was returned to its rightful
owner, St. Sophia in Constantinople would
once more become Greek.

“The cross was returned to me on my
fifteenth birthday. It has a secret spring
which opens a tiny compartment.

“The only person who knew this was my
fiance, the diadoque. I told it to him on the
day of our engagement.”

A catch in her breath, like a sob, stopped her
for an instant.

“T DID not think he would do it, but he
must have told the queen. A few days
ago she asked me to let her see it.

“I brought it to the palace yesterday, and
she carried it away to her room. She put me
off when I asked for its return. I began to
suspect then.

“To-night I learned from some one who in
reality is a Venizelist that this morning it was
given to young Falkenheim, who has been
secretly in Athens, and is now on its way to
Germany. He is traveling through the neutral
zone.”

“And you wish to regain possession of that
cross?”

“In its secret compartment is a folded bit of
tissue-paper on which are traced all the de¬
fenses of Saloniki. Oh, if it were only possi¬
ble for me to go with you! I know the neu¬
tral zone well, and the exact route he is taking.

“But I have arranged for Aneste to go with
you. He is a Thracian, and came down
through there.

“I thought of sending him alone, but it will
require more brains than he has to wrest the
cross from Falkenheim. The German will
stop at nothing to keep it-”

“And I shall stop at nothing to get it.”

A RTEMIS s mil ed. “I am not afraid of
your failing—if you can only catch him.
But he has ten horns’ start.”

“Is Aneste ready? I will set out as soon as
I can change into my riding-togs.”

“Yes, he is ready. You will find him with
two horses farther up Lycabettus, by the en¬
trance to the English Archeological School. It
was best not to have him wait near your house.

“And one thing more: when you get the
cross, place the thumb of your right hand on
the large ruby in its center; then put the
thumb of your left hand on the smallest of the
three sapphires on the back and press hard.
There will be a click, and the cross will slowly
open.

“Destroy the papers at once. There are
German and Bulgarian bands roaming about
the neutral zone, and you must not take any
chances.”

“I will destroy the papers as soon as I get
my hands on the cross.”

BECAUSE a little human smile flickered
over the lips of the girl, Elihu cried pas¬
sionately, “Artemis!”

She shrank from him. He followed her to
the door, and beyond, to the portico leading
to the street. There she checked him with a
hand on his arm.

“In spite of everything, Mr. Peabody, am
still the promised wife of another man.”

Then, characteristically, her mind reverting
from love to politics, she added:

Continued on page 6 2

Continued from page 6 0

HILLS OF HAN

he broke out, with a gesture so vehement that
it startled her:

“Oh, it’s plain enough. We’re on a ship,
idling, dreaming, floating from a land of color
and charm and quaint unreality to another
land that has always enchanted me, for all the
dirt and disease, and the smells. It’s that!
Romance! The old web! It’s catching us.

“And we’re not even resisting. No one
could blame you—you’re young, charming, as
full of natural life as a young flower in the
morning. But I—I’m not romantic- To¬
night, yes! But next Friday, in Shanghai,
no!” Betty turned away to hide a smile.

“You think I’m brutal? Well—I am.”

“No, you’re not brutal.”

“Yes, I am. But my Heavens! You in
T’ainan-fu! Child, it’s wrong!”

“It is simply a thing I can’t help,” said she.

They fell silent. The pulse of the great dim
ship was soothing. One bell sounded. Two
bells. Three.

A MAN of Jonathan Brachey’s nature
^ couldn’t know the power his nervous, bold
thoughts and words were bound to exert in the
mind of a girl like Betty. It was the first time
that a mature and admittedly interesting man
had taken her seriously. In her heart already
she was mothering him.

He might or might not have been as selfish as
he claimed; in either event she was now capable
only of smiling over him, hiding her face in the
dark. Every word he spoke now, even the
strong words that startled her, she enveloped
in warm sentiment.

To Brachey’s crabbed, self-centered nature
she was like a lush oasis in the arid desert of
his heart. He could no more turn his back on
it than could any tired, dusty wanderer.

He knew this. Or, better, she was like a
mirage. And mirages have driven men out of
their wits.

So Romance seized them. They walked
miles the next day, round and round the deck.
Mrs. Hasmer was powerless, and perturbed.
Her husband counseled watchful patience.

Before night all the passengers knew that the
two were restless apart. They found corners
on the boat-deck, far from all eyes.

That night Mrs. Hasmer came to Betty’s
door; satisfied herself that the girl was actu¬
ally undressing and going to bed. Not one
personal word passed.

And then, half an hour later, Betty, dressed
again, tiptoed out. Her heart was high,
touched with divine recklessness. This, she
supposed, was wrong; but right or wrong, it
was carrying her out of her girlish self.

BRACIIEY was fighting harder; but to little
purpose. They had these two days now.
That was all. At Shanghai, and after, it would
be, as he had so vigorously said, different.

Just these two days! He saw, when she
joined him on the deck, that she was riding at
the two days as if they were to be her last on
earth. Intensely, soberly happy, she was pass¬
ing through a golden haze of dreams, leaving
the future to be what it might.

They sat, hand in hand, in the bow. She
sang, in a light, pretty voice, songs of youth in
a young land—college songs, popular negro
melodies, amusing little street songs.

Very, very late, on the last evening, after a
long silence — they had mounted to the boat-
deck — he caught her roughly in his arms and
kissed her.

She lay limply against him. For a moment,
a bitter moment — for now, in an instant, he
knew that she had never thought as far as this
— he feared she had fainted. Then he felt her
tears on his cheek.

He lifted her to her feet, as roughly.

She swayed away from him, leaning against
a boat. He said, choking :

“Can you get down-stairs all right?”

She bowed her head, and after a moment
went.

He made no effort to help her down the steps.

They walked along the deck toward the
main companionway. Suddenly, with an in¬
articulate sound, he turned, plunged in at the
smoking-room door, and was gone.

J7ARLY in the morning the ship dropped
anchor in the muddy Woosung. The
breakfast-hour came around, then the quaran¬
tine inspection; but the silent, pale Betty, her
moody eyes searching restlessly, caught no
glimpse of him.

He must have taken a later launch than the
one that carried Betty and the Hasmers up to
the Bund at Shanghai. And during their two
days in the bizarre, polyglot city, with its
nearly European facade behind which swarms
all China, it became clear that he wasn’t stop¬
ping at the Astor House.

The only letter was one from her father at
T’ainan-fu.

She watched every mail; and inquired se¬
cretly at the office of the river steamers an hour
before starting on the long voyage up the
Yangtze; but there was nothing.

Then she recalled that he had never asked
for her address, or for her father’s full name.
They had spoken of T’ainan-fu. He might or
might not remember it. And that was all.

To be continued

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PAGE 02 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

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Continued from page 61

IN PAWN TO A THRONE

“You may wonder why I did not send Spiro
Millioti for my cross. I did not dare to.
Something is brewing at the palace, and he is
the only one I can rely on there. Good
night.”

She was gone out into the night.

C)N THE seventh of April, nineteen hundred
and seventeen, when the Allied world was
ringing with the news that the great republic
across the seas had declared itself against
Germany, Artemis Bysas was hastily sum¬
moned to the palace.

In the great homelike library of the king
she found assembled the king and queen with
two of their brothers, the crown prince, a young
German officer, von Wahnzinn — who was not
officially supposed to be in Greece—and in ad¬
dition to these t he two members of the General
Staff and the “Greek” of Bavarian ancestry,
who were popularly considered to be the
“occult Government” which ran the country,
in spite of whatever puppet prime minister
might be in office.

With the exception of the queen, those who
were seated rose to greet Artemis, and in a
swift glance she took in the composition of
the group. A crown council of all the former
prime ministers would not have been so
significant.

While the girl courtesied to the queen, the
latter said:

“Your devotion to the throne will be tested
to-day, Artemis.”

The last bearer of the name of Bysas flushed
at the tone in which the phrase was delivered.
The sister of the kaiser had never been affec¬
tionate toward her whom the will of a nation
was making her daughter-in-law.

AS ARTEMIS took her seat in an empty
chair beside the diadoque the autocratic
heart of the queen swelled with anger that
there should be any need of gaining the ap¬
proval of this girl, not even of royal blood.
Haughtily she said:

“To business, gentlemen. Since Mile.
Bysas must see those letters, let her see them
at once.”

A general rose and brought the girl two long
letters. They were both signed by the
former prime minister, M. Venizelos, who,
having raised the standard of revolt against
the pro-German policy of the king, had been in
Saloniki since the September before, with an
army of sixty thousand, which was daily grow¬
ing by the accession of volunteers from all
parts of Greece.

Artemis read the two letters through once,
and then again. They were confidential let¬
ters, addressed to the ministers of England
and France in Athens. They discussed at
length the best way to kidnap the royal family,
deport them from Greece, and declare a re¬
public, thus bringing the whole of Greece on the
side of the Entente.

After finishing the letters for the second
time Artemis turned to the king.

“ Your Majesty believes these were written
by him? What proofs are there of it?”

The queen had been tapping the floor with
her foot while Artemis spoke, and now she
broke in impatiently:

“My dear Artemis, we have not called you
here to discuss the authenticity of these let¬
ters. We know they are genuine, and that is
quite enough. Don’t you think so?”

The daugher of Hellas looked straight into
the eyes of the daughter of Prussia.

“Then why am 1 shown these letters?” Arte¬
mis asked.

The king answered this time. “As you see,
the throne”—he smiled his pleasant smile,
which had made him so many friends — “your
throne some day, is threatened. We must
take all counter precautions, and you can help.
We have this morning arrived at an important
decision.”

T J E STOPPED speaking. Artemis smiled
1 1 back at him. She had always liked the
big, frank-appearing, blunt monarch more
than any other member of his family.

“And what is this decision?” she asked.

“That the Allied army must be thrown out
of Saloniki!”

Without any exclamation of astonishment
at the momentous proposition Artemis ob¬
served :

“Our army is demobilized. How can we
force the Allied army out of Saloniki?”

The queen sneered openly at this.

“Your precious Greek army could not be
trusted to do that, were it never so mo¬
bilized. The Germans will do that.”

Artemis was not looking at the queen when
she spoke again. Her eyes passed over the
king’s head to the photograph of the kaiser,
which stood on the bookcase behind his desk.
His baleful personality could hardly have ruled
this assembly more fully had he been present.

“To make such an attempt we must be certain
of success,” she said, as if yielding. “Are we?”

“We are!” the king replied bluntly. “I may
tell' you what is known yet to only a few of
us”-—he looked around with the pride which
even a king feels in imparting startling in¬
formation—“that the plans of Saloniki’s de¬
fenses are even now on their way to Berlin.”

ARTEMIS happened to catch the look
which the queen shot at her husband, and
it was plain that he had said too much. There
ensued a pause of some awkwardness. Arte¬
mis broke the silence, and her words were a
welcome relief.

She nodded a reflective assent.

“But have we taken everything into ac-
coxmt?” she asked. “Have we thought fully
of what America may do?”

“America!” the queen exclaimed with the ut¬
most. contempt. “We have taken care of
America. For the past fifteen years Germany
has been sending picked men there in prepara¬
tion for just such an eventuality.

“Every ninth American is of German blood—
and he is worth the other eight put together.
We have men we can count on in their Govern¬
ment, at the head of their banking-department.

directing their newspapers — everywhere we
control.

“In addition we have more than half a mil¬
lion trained soldiers in America — reservists—
and we have arms and ammunition for them
stored in German-owned warehouses. They
alone can conquer the country, if necessary,
and hold it for us until we have settled with
these pig-Englishmen.”

“In any case America ‘in the war’ can do no
more than she has been doing the past three
years,” the general added. “And with un¬
restricted U-boat activity England will soon be
brought to her knees. It is a practical impos¬
sibility for the United States to raise a force
of any size to send overseas.”

“Very well; we will disregard America
then,” said Artemis. “But has Germany
enough men to spare to destroy the Allied
army in Saloniki?”

Despite the queen’s manifest hesitation, the
king spoke once more:

“The German and Bulgarian armies are
closing in on Saloniki. As soon as they re¬
ceive the plans we have sent them they will
know just where to attack.

“We ourselves can strike the deadliest blow
of all. We have well-paid agents among the
civilian Turks and Bulgars whom the Allies
foolishly permitted to stay in the town, and
they -”

“Your Majesty!” the queen interrupted
sharply. “Is it wise to speak of all our plans
while we are still in the power of the French
and English?”

“But even if we should take part in these
operations, would not Greece be dishonored,
since she has promised to maintain a benevo¬
lent neutrality toward the Allied army in
Saloniki?”

“Artemis, my girl,” said the queen, “dis¬
honor falls only on the unsuccessful.”

“Germany must win this war,” the diadoque
put in. “With the Allied army in Greece
destroyed, one more of her objects is gained.
She will then occupy the whole littoral here,
and her U-boats will absolutely command the
Mediterranean, whereas now she has only
the one Bulgarian port on the Aegean.”

ARTEMIS was conscious that the queen’s
eyes never left her face, and she knew that
she had opposed the plan longer than was wise.

Suddenly her face cleared, as if her last
scruple had been swept away.

“Are there really troops enough in Mace¬
donia to crush General Sarrail?”

The queen fairly purred with satisfaction.

“You do not yet know all, Artemis. The En¬
tente will be unable to send any reenforce¬
ments to Saloniki because Italy will be attacked
at the same time, and a tremendous offensive
will be launched on the western front.”

“But why was this not done last year, before
we were forced to demobilize our own army?”

If a king can pout, Constantine pouted
now. “Russia had first to be disorganized
and the pro-Ally party in Roumania to be
smashed. Now Russia and Roumania are
both in the hands of our friends. We have
nothing to fear from those quarters.”

“You say that the plans are already in Ger¬
many?” Artemis was conscious that her
breath came short.

“They will be soon,” the diadoque answered
smiling. “The very surest way has been taken
to send them safely.”

Her son’s words amused the queen. She
laughed immoderately in her heavy Germanic
way.

“Some day we will tell you. It is a good
joke,” she said.

Artemis laughed too. The queen’s mirth
was very contagious, and, besides, she knew
the other side of the joke.

As she glanced from the amused queen to
the chuckling diadoque there rose beside him,
in her mind’s eye, the tall figure of Elihu Pea¬
body—even as, years before, the figure of the
crown prince had arisen beside the statue,
which Elihu so strikingly resembled, in her
great-grandfather’s garden. Then it had been
the physical difference which had repelled her.
Now it was the moral.

Something of wily Ulysses is said to be the
inheritance of every Greek; and surely this
must be so, else how could Artemis—brought
up in the most rigid truthfulness — have found
herself eager to outwit the queen and her whole
pro-German party in Athens?

THE significance of the queen’s words fell
upon the ears of Artemis like the dull roar¬
ing of a great gun. She felt, as she had never
felt, even when she had consented to marry
the crown prince for her country’s sake, that
Greece was calling upon her for help. This
was a greater matter than any mere question of
dynasty. This affected not only the good
name of Hellas before the world, but the whole
course of her country’s future.

Summoning all her wit and self-possession,
she threw herself into the game of dissimula¬
tion with abandon and joy. It was as if the
blood of Machiavelli and not that of the
Bysases flowed in her veins.

Sweetly she turned to the queen with a light
shining in her eyes that made them lovelier
than usual, and asked:

“In what way can I show my loyalty to the
throne, your Majesty?”

Even Sophie grudgingly admitted to herself
that Artemis was captivating. With head
tossed high she waited for the queen’s reply,
while her glance challenged the diadoque
who, all unknowing, at this moment felt that
even the great war was well paid for, if through
it he possessed this entrancing creature a day
the sooner.

Slowly and impressively the queen spoke:

“Artemis, our enemies say that you are not
in sympathy with our party, and that you have
deferred your marriage for no other reason
than because you are opposed to his Majesty’s
policy. To-day I want you to give the lie to
such talk by setting the date of your marriage
and by making it as early as possible. What
say you?”

To be concluded

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 63

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I S IT that Fashion, having retrenched along all lines during the
war, now feels that she can give up the economy of narrow ways
and return to fuller dresses? Or has she heard that street-car
companies have most inconsiderately refused to lower their car-
steps to the pas of the narrow skirt? Is she, in offering a new sil¬
houette, simply following the old law — that the best of fashions must
depart? Reasons make very little difference. The result is the
thing; in this case a ripple skirt that swings far away from everything
we have been wearing for the last two years. Callot offered it first
to Paris, and there are rumors to the effect that it will be the piece de
resistance of the French collections which are to be shown this
month.

Callot also offers a bodice cut with a deep point in front, borrowed
from eighteenth-century portraits. But if art improves on nature,
Callot is quite capable of improving on art, for while the eighteenth-
century bodice held the figure in a vise, Callot does no more than
reveal its lines with the lightest touch. This in itself, however, is
a distinct departure from the chemise styles, which draw a straight
line from bust to hip.

The latest fashion, however, is never the fashion that has the
widest vogue at its inception. While the full skirt is the newest
line, the straight, narrow silhouette still holds first place with a pub¬
lic that never quite gets over its human weakness for hesitating on
the water’s edge before taking the plunge. Probably it will accept
the full skirt by way of the more familiar tunic, which is used on
many of the new gowns. In the meantime it has lost none of its
taste for one-piece dresses and long blouses. The idea of the long
body has been transferred to the separate waist which is worn over a
skirt, either a suit skirt, a sports skirt, or a dress skirt, as the case
may be.

A UGUST has several things of interest to offer in the way of nou-
veautes des modes. There is a new collar that stands away from
the neck, and another high and frame-like in back but not interfering
with the open, square neck in front. There is a dress with a Rus¬
sian back closing, from shoulder to hem, a redingote, the kimono
blouse and a new sleeve puffed below the elbow. The short sleeve
is very French and so is the extremely short skirt, but while we
accept the one we modify the other, so that while it shows the
ankle it leaves something to the imagination in regard to the
knee.

Embroidery takes its toll of the new fashions and there is very little
that escapes it, that is, if you will agree to allow beading to come
under that general head. The thinner Summer tissues, silk crepes
and cotton voiles are much beaded, while the heavier-than-air mate¬
rials are embroidered or braided. Batik is responsible for a new com¬
bination of stenciling and embroidery, very easy to do and giving
one a chance for a splendid use of color.

Blouse 1798
5kirt 1821

PAGE 64 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

PARIS TAKES A STEP TOWARD FULLER FASHIONS —BEER, PREMET, CHANEL,

BULLOZ AND RENEE WORK ON WIDER LINES

Renee, a youthful
house of unusual
promise, shows the
new length of coat in
a tailored suit for the
early Fall. It is made
of “diafine,” a French
material, and is
trimmed with black
silk braid

A voluminous cape
wrap of black djersa-
dor by Bulloz, marks
the way to the new
fuller fashions. The
fur is gray tibet and
is highly commended
for Summer use

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919 PAGE 65

WHAT WORTH, LANVIN, MARTIAL ET ARMAND AND JENNY OFFER FOR AUGUST

SOULIE DRAWS THE FINE LINE OF THE FRENCH MODES

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A twentieth - century
stomacher is designed
by Worth in a neck¬
lace of turquoise and
jet which lends its sup¬
port to a drapery of
black satin over a
gown of black muslin
brocaded in gold

A

“Pearls of porcelain,”
which sounds so much
finer than “china
beads,” embroider a
dress of Bengali silk
taffeta by Jenny.
Here you have panels,
the straight silhouette
and the French length
of skirt and sleeve

BY CABLE FROM PARIS

DARIS has abandoned the very nar-
1 row skirt for the easier ways of styles
that are softer and slightly full. Con¬
spicuous stripes, Hawaiian fringe, the
redingote, prodigal embroideries and the
very short sleeve are promised for the
August openings.

Rodier’s new material, “dialline
degradee ,” striped irregularly in
gray and black, is used by Martial
et Armand in a mantle for Mid¬
summer

\

Paris uses much em¬
broidery, and no one
handles it with bet-
ter grace than
Jeanne Lanvin. On
this soft, slightly full
dress of blue crepe
turco, the embroi¬
dery is worked in
Etruscan-red silk
mixed with pearl
sequins

PAGE 66 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

FROCKS THAT MEET THE MOOD OF SUMMER

For Soft Materials As Well As Tub Fabrics

1817—Linen is used for a dress made on smart,
simple lines that are especially good for the Summer
materials like linen, cotton poplin, cotton gabar¬
dine, chambray and gingham. It is cut in the
fashionable redingote style, and the embroidered
vestee provides a smart, inexpensive trimming on
the dress. The standing collar is quite new and it
is a change from the collarless neck. The straight
skirt is made in one piece, has a slightly raised
waistline and is finished separately. The dress can
be used with or without a body lining in satin, taf¬
feta, charmeuse, faille, moire or tricolette.

36-inch bust requires 5 yards linen 35 or 36 inches
wide, 5-8 yard contrasting linen 35 or 36 inches wide.
Lower edge 1% yard. Embroidery design 10766 is
used to trim the dress.

This dress is suitable for ladies of 32 to 46 inches
bust.

1806—Buttons that commence in front and end
only with the hem in back bring distinction to a
simple and good-looking dress of wash silk. The
close, tailored sleeve is especially smart for the heavy
tub materials like linen, cotton poplin, chambray,
gingham, cotton prints, repp and cotton gabardine.
The sleeve could also be finished in the bell shape
or in the new short length. The skirt is cut in three
pieces and is arranged with becoming soft gathers
at a slightly raised waistline. You can make this
dress over a body lining or without it. Satin, char¬
meuse, taffeta, moire and faille would be effective
for a silk dress in this style.

36-inch bust requires yards wash silk 35 or 36
inches wide. Lower edge of the skirt measures l l A
yard.

This dress is attractive for ladies of 32 to 44
Inches bust.

1820—9842—Chiffon for the long blouse, taffeta for
the slip, and fringe for the trimming make an ex¬
tremely smart and charming costume for any but
formal evening wear. The blouse slips on over the
head and is cut in kimono fashion with the adorable
short sleeve that Paris is wearing so much this
Summer. It is very becoming for a woman or
young girl made in Georgette crepe, silk voile, crepe
de Chine, satin and crepe meteor; it is also suited to
cotton voile, batiste or linen. The slip is splendid
for wear under blouses of this type, and is cut on
excellent narrow lines.

36-inch bust requires 2 1 4 yards chiffon 39 or 40
Inches wide, 11 % yards fringe, 2Js yards taffeta 36
inches wide. Lower edge l A yard.

This blouse, 1820, is becoming to ladies of 32 to
42 inches bust; it is also adapted to misses. The
slip, 9842, is suitable for ladies of 32 to 44 bust.

1804 —Merely by turning its stripes in another way
on the deep bell cuffs and wide tunic-like band a
frock of tub silk arrives quite simply at distinction.
The dress slips on over the head, and the long body
of the overblouse has the fashionable low waistline.
The lower part is straight and gives the effect of an
overskirt. The sleeve is one-seamed and its flared
lower part is new. The skirt is cut in two pieces.
This dress can be made with a camisole lining. Use'
linen, cotton poplin, cotton gabardine, gingham,
chambray, cotton prints, tub silks, foulard, shan¬
tung, satin, taffeta, charmeuse or tricolette.

36-inch bust requires 4 yards striped tub silk 32
inches wide, 1 yard plain silk 35 or 36 inches wide, l A
yard material 35 or 36 inches wide for upper part of
skirt. Bottom iy 8 yard.

This dress is suitable for ladies of 32 to 44 inches
bust.

1755 — The Summer frock is known by its ruffles,
delightful ones of moire on soft Georgette. The
waist is made with a new and interesting stand-
away collar. The sleeve is one-seamed, and the
peplum is straight, over a foundation with the egg-
shaped silhouette. This dress is extremely simple
to make for the collar, trimming band and ruffles
are all straight, and can be made of ribbon, em¬
broidery or lace edging or other materials. Use
ribbon, taffeta or satin with silk crepe, silk voile,
chiffon or crepe de Chine, or lace or embroidery
edging with organdy, batiste or lawn.

36-inch bust requires 2 A yards Georgette 39 or
40 inches wide, 3 yards moire silk 35 or 36 inches
wide for collar, cuffs, band and ruffles, 2 A yards
material 35 or 36 inches wide for foundation skirt.
Lower edge of foundation skirt 1 % yard.

This dress is attractive for ladies of 32 to 44 bust.

1760 — Narrow tucks in the waist, and wide ones in
the skirt make a delightful frock for Summer wear
and thin materials. The waist is cut with the be¬
coming round neck and a shallow yoke offers a
pretty finish. The cuffed sleeve is made with one
seam. The closing in the back gives a new note
to the dress and the two deep tucks trim the straight
skirt easily and inexpensively. The dress can be
made with a camisole lining under cotton voile,
batiste, lawn, mull, organdy, silk crepe or crepe de
Chine or without it in taffeta, foulard, washable
silks and satin and crepe meteor.

36-inch bust requires 4 yards dotted swiss 35 or
36 inches wide, % yard organdy 35 or 36 inches w ide.
Lower edge 1 X A yard.

This dress is becoming to ladies of 32 to 44 inches
bust.

1788— One of the soft frocks that are a legitimate
part of Summer, and its best compensation comes
in light checked voile. The surplice waist is prettily
draped and ties in a sash behind and the one-seam
sleeves can be finished in several different ways.
The skirt is straight and may be made without
the tuck. This dress has very soft lines that are
especially effective in cotton voile, batiste, lawn,
mull, gingham, chambray, cotton print, tub silks,
foulard, taffeta, crepe de Chine, crepe meteor, char¬
meuse, satin, striped silk and plaid silk. The dress
can be made with a camisole lining or without it as
you wish.

36-inch bust requires 4% yards checked voile 39
or 40 inches wide, % yard organdy 39 or 40 inches
wide. Lower edge 1 % yard.

This dress is graceful for ladies of 32 to 46 inches
bust.

Blouse 1820
Slip 9842

Dress 1817
Embroidery design 10766

Dress 1806

1801 — Standaway collar and soft drapery that gives the
widened hip proves an unusually attractive frock for cottons
or silk. The line of the neck is new, and the deep surplice
closing is always becoming; the sash ends finish the waistline
in a graceful fashion. The sleeve is made with one seam and
the flared cuff gives a graceful new line. The dress can be
made with or without the camisole lining. The skirt is cut
in two pieces, and the dress is very pretty in taffeta, moire,
satin, charmeuse, faille f-ilk or foulard. It is also quite suit¬
able for gingham, chambray or cotton voile for a tub frock
for general summer wear.

36-inch bust requires 4 \i yards figured cotton voile 39 or
40 inches wide, H yard organdy 39 or 40 inches wide. Lower
edge 1 % yard.

This dress is becoming to ladies of 32 to 42 inches bust
measure.

1757—Plaitings upside down and tucks in clusters make an
unusual frock in light organdy. There is a square-necked
vestee in the front, and the back of the waist comes over the
shoulder in a pretty little yoke effect. The sleeve is made
with one seam and the short, half-way to the elbow line is
charming for a light Summer frock. The straight skirt is
easy to tuck. This dress can be made with a camisole lining
in cotton voile, batiste, lawn, mull, organdy, silk crepe or
crepe de Chine, or without it in taffeta, foulard, wash silks,
wash satin or crepe meteor. This is a splendid dress for
Summer, for it can be made up quite inexpensively, and is
easy to launder.

36-inch bust requires 3% yards organdy 39 or 40 inches
wide, 1 ]/ 8 yard contrasting organdy 39 or 40 inches wide for
collar, vestee including plaitings. Lower edge of the skirt
measures 1 A 2 yard.

This dress is pretty for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust.

Other views of these garments are stiown on page 84

1808 — A becoming long collar, a deep vestee and big pockets
between the plaits commend a new frock of linen to the
woman who wants a simple dress for general wear. The
waist is soft and the plain sleeve is always good style lor a
dress of this character. The skirt is cut in four pieces, and
two plaits at each side of the front and back give an easy
width that many women like. The fulness at the side can be
either fitted with a dart or gathered. You can make this
dress with or without a body lining. Use satin, charmeuse,
taffeta, crepe de Chine, crepe meteor, foulard, silk poplin,
gingham, chambray, cotton poplin, linen or cotton gabardine
for this dress.

36-inch bust requires 4 % yards linen 35 or 36 inches wide,
M yard dotted swiss 35 or 36 inches wide for collar, K yard
material 32 inches wide. Lower edge 2 % yards.

This dress is correct for ladies of 32 to 46 inches bust mea¬
sure.

THE DELINEATOR EUR AUGUST, 1919 FACE 67

Other views of these garments are shown on page 84

PAGE 68 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

Russian
blouse 1765
Skirt 1671
Embroidery
design 10745,

Overblouse

1758
Slip 1517
Braid

design 10706

Dress 1767

Dress 1793

Other views of these garments are shown on page 84

Dress 1797

Dress 1806

PAGE 69

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

V

Dress 1734

Waist 1792
Skirt 1342

Waist 1795
Skirt 1445

Dress 1829
Embroidery design 10749
Bag 10752

AUGUST SILHOUETTES

Frocks Take the New Lines
For Tub and Soft Materials

1767 —Figured voile makes an adorable dress for Summer
afternoons with its deep tucks and frilled collar. The body
is cut in one with the sleeves in the fashionable kimono
style and the straight skirt is easy to tuck. The dress can
be made over a camisole lining under cotton voile, lawn,
batiste, mull, silk crepe, silk voile, or without it under fou¬
lard, crepe de Chine, crepe meteor, taffeta or satin.

36-inch bust requires 4% yards figured voile 39 or 40
inches wide, 54 yard organdy 39 or 40 inches wide, 34 yard
voile 18 or more inches wide for vestee. Lower edge 1 54
yard.

It is becoming to ladies of 32 to 44 bust.

1775 — English print and batiste are combined in a good-
looking dress for general wear. The front and back panels
give the long slender lines that are becoming to women or
young girls, and the inside pockets suggest the fashionable
egg-shaped silhouette. The dress can be made with a
body lining. Use linen, cotton poplin, cotton gabar¬
dine, gingham, ehambray or cotton prints with batiste or
voile.

36-bust requires 3 54 yards print 32 inches wide, 1 34 yard
batiste 35 or 36 inches wide for side front, side back, sleeves,
34 yard velvet 27 inches wide for belt. Bottom 1 34 yard.

This dress is correct for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust; it is
also suitable for misses.

1765—1671 —A Russian blouse and a narrow skirt are the
best sort of a combination for Midsummer. The long
blouse is very fashionable, and makes a becoming costume
for the young girl, too, in linen, gingham, cotton prints,
shantung, foulard, satin or crepe de Chine. It can be made
over a camisole lining. The skirt is cut in two pieces on
smart narrow lines. Use linen, cotton gabardine, etc.

36 bust and 38 hip require 5 yards linen 35 or 36 inches
wide. Bottom 134 yard. Embroidery 10745 trims dress.

This blouse, 1765, is suitable for ladies of 32 to 44 inches
bust; it is also adapted for misses. This skirt, 1671, is
correct for ladies of 35 to 47 34 inches hip.

1758 — 1517 — A smart overblouse and narrow slip will
prove a canny investment for any woman’s wardrobe.
Jumpers are fashionable, and give an attractive costume
effect. This one is suitable for a woman or young girl.
The slip closes on the left shoulder and underarm.

36-inch bust requires 1J4 yard linen 35 or 36 inches wide,
1 54 yard cotton voile 39 or 40 inches wide for upper part
and sleeves, 234 yards linen 35 or 36 inches wide. Bot¬
tom 1 34 yard. Braid design 10706 trims the over-blouse.

This over-blouse, 1758, is correct for ladies of 32 to 42
bust; it is also adapted to misses. The slip, 1517, is suit¬
able for ladies of 32 to 46 bust.

1797— A narrow belt crosses itself fashionably and clus¬
ters of plaits emphasize the straight lines of a gingham
frock. It is an excellent one-piece dress for a woman or
young girl made in gingham, ehambray, linen, cotton pop¬
lin, cotton gabardine, satin, taffeta or silk poplin. You
can make this dress with or without the body fining. It
requires no trimming other than the pockets, belt and collar.

36-inch bust requires 5 34 yards gingham 32 inches wide,
54 yard organdy 32 inches wide. Lower edge 2 yards with
plaits drawn out.

This dress is pretty for ladies of 32 to 48 inches bust; it is
also adapted to misses.

1793 —A very smart dress of cotton poplin follows the fash¬
ionable straight fines that are used so much for the tailored
one-piece frock. The back closing is very good style, and
gives an attractive trimming. The dress can also close in
front and you could make it with a body lining. Linen,
cotton gabardine, repp, gingham, ehambray, cotton pop-
fin, satin or taffeta makes a nice dress for woman or young
girl.

36 bust requires 434 yards cotton poplin 35 or 36 inches
wide, 34 yard lawn 22 or more wide. Bottom 1 34 yard.

This dress is graceful for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust;
it is also correct for misses.

1806 —This linen frock gives you two guesses for its clos¬
ing, and makes a delightfully simple frock for Summer
materials like linen, cotton poplin, ehambray, gingham,
cotton prints, repp, cotton gabardine, satin, charmeuse or
taffeta. The dress closes on the left side in front and can
be finished with round or square neck. The skirt is cut
in three pieces. You can make this dress with a body
fining.

36-inch bust requires 3 34 yards linen 35 or 36 inches
wide, 3 4 yard organdy 39 or 40 inches wide for frills, 234
yards ribbon 6 inches wide for sash. Bottom 134 yard.

This dress is excellent for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust.

1734-—Plain above and plaid below make an irresistible
frock for a woman or young girl. The long body has the
slender, trim fines liked so much and the sleeves are cut in
kimono fashion. The lower part is in two pieces and gives
the fashionable stand-out pocket fines at the hips. The
dress can be made with a body fining. Use linen, gingham,
ehambray, cotton print or cotton poplin alone, or combine
gingham with ehambray or batiste. Lower edge 1 34 yard.

Other views of these garments are shown on page 84

36-inch requires 234 yards plaid gingham 32 inches wide,
2J4 yards ehambray 32 inches wide including a sash.

This dress is suitable for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust
measure; it is also correct for misses.

1795—1445 — Foulard is used for a new frock that fronts
the world with a delightful vestee and a particularly pretty
tunic skirt. The waist has smart fines with its long collar
and single button fastening. It is made with a French
fining. The two-piece tunic takes a very graceful outline,
and is arranged over a foundation skirt, also two-pieced.
Use satin, charmeuse, taffeta, foulard or crepe do Chine.

36 bust and 38 hip require 454 yards foulard 35 or 36
inches wide, % yard satin 35 or 36 wide, 1 yard material
32 wide for upper part of foundation. Bottom 1 p 2 yard.

This waist, 1795, is pretty for ladies of 32 to 48 inches
bust; the skirt, 1445, for ladies of 35 to 4934 inches hip.

1813 — A delightful little apron effect is made by the
jumper-like waist of a figured voile frock. The U neck is
fashionable and becoming, the bell sleeve is charming for
warm weather and the two-piece skirt is soft and graceful.
You can make this dress over a camisole fining in cotton
voile, batiste or lawn, or without it in gingham, ehambray,
satin, charmeuse, taffeta, foulard or cr£pe meteor.

36-inch bust requires 334 yards voile 39 or 40 inches wide,
1 yard contrasting voile 39 or 40 inches wide for collar,
sleeves, side front and side back. Bottom 134 yard.

This dress is graceful for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust
measure.

1792—1342— Fancy voile is never more soft and lovely
than in a draped surplice dress. The waist is made over a
French body fining and the back comes over the shoulders
like a yoke. The skirt is cut in two pieces, and the irregu¬
lar fines of the drapery give a very graceful effect. You
could use cotton voile or satin.

36-inch bust and 38-inch hip require 4 yards figured
voile 39 or 40 inches wide, 34 yard plain voile 39 or 40
inches wide including plaitings. Lower edge \% yard.

This waist, 1792, is becoming to ladies of 32 to 50 inches
bust. The skirt, 1342, is for ladies of 35 to 4734 inches hip
measure.

1829 —A fuller tunic over a narrow foundation skirt, soft-
draped bodice fines, and flare collar are decidedly new
terms in the Autumn fashions. The long body is draped
prettily about the figure. Sash ends finish the waistline
and the sleeves have one seam. The tunic is straight.
You can make this dress over a camisole fining. Use cotton
voile, batiste, organdy, satin, charmeuse or taffeta.

36-inch bust requires 4 yards black satin 35 or 36 inches
wide, 1 34 yard chiffon 39 or 40 inches wide for collar and
tunic. Lower edge, y s yard. Embroidery design 10749
trims the dress. The bag is adapted from bag 10752.

The dress is correct for ladies of 32 to 42 bust.

PAGE 70 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

*

THE NEW LINES OF AUGUST

A Successful Summer Is Marked by Its Frocks

1736— Georgette crepe and foulard are combined in a
tunic frock. The waist is made on simple lines that offer
a particularly good field for embroidery or braiding. The
one-seam sleeve turns back into a graceful pointed cuff
effect. The dress can be made with or without the cami¬
sole lining, and the straight skirt is gathered. The straight
lower edge of the tunic is especially easy to handle. Use
cotton voile, batiste, lawn, dimity, gingham, chambray,
bordered materials, stripes, plaids, checks, silk crepe, silk
voile, crepe de Chine, taffeta, satin, foulard or pongee.

36-inch bust requires 2 y s yards Georgette crepe 39 or 40
inches wide for waist and tunics, 2 % yards foulard 35 or 36
inches wide. Lower edge 1% yard.

This dress is becoming to ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust
measure.

%

1738 —When a new frock shortens its sleeves to the French
length, adopts the long surplice closing and tucks its skirt,
the result is all it should be. The soft fulness in the front
of the waist is gathered to a back which comes over the
shoulders like a yoke. The sleeve has one seam and the
tucks on the straight skirt provide an easy trimming.
This dress can be made with a camisole lining in such
materials as cotton voile, batiste, organdy, lawn, dimity,
crepe de Chine, silk crepe, net, silk voile or without it under
gingham or chambray.

36-inch bust requires 5 l { yards English print 32 inches
wide, % yard organdy 39 or 40 inches wide. Lower edge
1 X A yard.

This dress is pretty for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust
measure.

1741 —Pointed peplums, long collar and cuff hem
give the cachet of fashion to a cotton vcile frock.
The waist is made with a smart vestee and a
flaring one-seam sleeve. The side peplums
break the narrow lines of the straight skirt, and
the cuff hem is new. You can use the camisole
lining under cotton voile, cotton marquisette,
batiste or dimity or discard it for gingham,
chambray, cotton prints, foulard, taffeta, satin,
pongee, tub silks or crepe de Chine.

36-inch bust requires 4% yards cotton voile
39 or 40 inches wide, 1M yard organdy 39 or 40
inches wide including sash and plaitings. Lower
edge 1% yard.

This dress is suitable for ladies of 32 to 44
inches bust measure.

1728 —A collar that forms its pockets and a skirt that ends
in a cuff, make an unusual frock in gingham and chambray.
The straight peplum and the square-necked waist give a
long blouse effect that is fashionable and becoming. The
cuff hem is easy to manage on the straight skirt. The
dress can be made with or without the camisole lining. It
is excellent for a combination of materials, or for taffeta,
crepe meteor, crepe de Chine, satin, foulard, silk jersey,
gingham, chambray, cotton crepe, linen, cotton poplin or
cotton voile used alone.

36-inch bust requires 4}^ yards gingham 32 inches wide,
1% yard chambray 32 inches wide, y s yard material 18 or
more inches wide for vest front, yard material 32 inches
wide for upper part of skirt. Lower edge 1% yard.

This dress is becoming to ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust
measure.

1730 — A frock of cotton voile smartly embroi¬
dered in beads proves most welcome at garden-
parties and many other Summer affairs. The
jumper has particularly graceful lines, and the
round collarless neck is fashionable. The body
is cut in the new kimono style and the straight,
soft tunic is used over the narrow foundation.
You can make this dress with or without a cami¬
sole lining. Silk crepe, silk voile, crepe de Chine
and net are effective alone or with taffeta or satin.
Cotton voile, batiste, dimity, etc., are also suit¬
able. Bottom of foundation skirt 1 % yard.

36 bust requires 4 yards cotton voile 40 inches
wide, 1 % yard material 32 inches wide for upper
part of skirt. Bead design 10736 trims the dress.

It is correct for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust.

Dress 1730
Bead design 10736

Other views, of these garments are shown on page 84

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

PAGE 71

Waist 1703
Skirt 1838
Bag 10752

1840 —Linen and English print are used for a
smart type of tailored dress for a woman or
young girl. The upper part has a becoming
collar and close sleeve. The lower part, which is
two-pieced, is joined to the waist to give the lines
of the one-piece dress. You can make the dress
with or without the body lining. Use linen,
cotton poplin, gingham, chambray or cotton
prints alone or with batiste, cotton voile or
dimity.

36-inch bust requires 1 % yard linen 36 inches
wide for upper part, 2^ yards English print
32 inches wide. Bottom iy yard.

It is for ladies of 32 to 44 bust; also for misses.

1837 — A broad panel in the front and back, a
new set-in pocket and a collarless round neck are
good things in a one-piece frock of linen. It can
be made with or without the body lining in linen,
cotton poplin, cotton gabardine, chambray,
gingham, satin, taffeta, charmeuse, shantung or
pongee for a woman or young girl.

36-inch bust requires 4% yards linen 36 inches
wide, % yard contrasting material 20 or more
inches wide. Bottom iy yard. Embroidery
design 10745 trims dress.

This dress is becoming to ladies of 32 to 44
inches bust; also to misses.

1836 — A very unusual neck outline and a French
type of overdress stamp a frock of cotton voile as
a late arrival in fashion. The body is cut in one
with the soft sleeve. A section is put in at each
side to give the panel lines over the two-pieced

Other views of these garments are shown on page 84

THE TREND OF FASHIONS

The Narrow Frock Goes a Broader Way

skirt. You can use a body lining if you choose and make
the dress of cotton vode, taffeta, foulard, crepe de Chine,
crepe meteor or satin.

36-inch bust requires A% yards cotton voile 40 inches
wide, 2% yards of lace banding 6inches wide, 1 % yard mate¬
rial 36 inches wide for upper part of skirt. Bottom 1 Ts yard.

It is graceful for ladies of 32 to 42 inches bust.

1839 — A new frock begins in batiste and ends in gingham,
belting itself fashionably with a narrow shoe-string sash.
It is a simple, smart dress for a woman or young girl, and is
suited to linen, gingham, chambray, cotton gabardine
alone or with batiste, cotton voile or dimity. You can
also use satin, taffeta, charmeuse or silk poplin. It can be
made with or without a body lining.

36-inch bust requires 1 % yard batiste 35 or 36 inches
wide, 2>Ys yards gingham 32 inches wide. Bottom with plaits
drawn cut measures 1% yard.

It is becoming to ladies of 32 to 44 bust; it is also adapted
to misses.

1708 — 1833 —A new frock widens its skirt and shortens its
sleeve for Summer afternoons. The skirt shows the
prettiest version of the new silhouette with its wider skirt
and narrow foundation, both two-pieced. The kimono
waist is becomingly draped and can be made with an under¬
body over the French lining when transparent material is
used. Use crepe meteor, taffeta, satin or crepe de Chine.

36 bust and 38 hip requires 4% yards cotton voile 40
inches wide, 1 y yard material 36 inches wide for upper part
of foundation. Bottom of foundation 1 yard.

This waist, 1708, is for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust;
the skirt, 1838, for ladies of 35 to 45 inches hip.

1703 — 1838 —Dotted net and taffeta make a convincing
argument for the very new lines of a delightful frock.
The skirt shows the new wider lines with more fulness in
the lower part and is cut in two pieces. The waist has a
draped girdle that forms a bib, and the net body is in
kimono style. It can be made with a camisole lining.
Use satin, taffeta or crepe meteor, with body of silk crepe
or silk voile. Bottom in full length 2 y yards.

36 bust and 38 hip require 1 y 2 yard dotted net 40 inches
wide body cut crosswise, 3 yards taffeta 35 or 36 wide.

This waist, 1703, is for ladies of 32 to 44 bust. The
skirt, 1838, for ladies of 35 to 45 hip.

PAGE 72

THE DELINEATOR TOR AUGUST, 1919

Blouse 1761
Skirt 1750
Embroidery design 10755

SMART COSTUMES

A New Wide Skirt and
Blouses of Interest

1761—1750 —A new note in separate waists is struck by
a draped kimono blouse worn with a tucked skirt.
The blouse slips on over the head and is closed on the
shoulder. It is suited to crepe de Chine, taffeta, crepe
meteor, satin, cotton voile or batiste. It is extremely
smart and becoming, and the short sleeve is new. The
skirt has a straight lower edge. Use sports silk, crepe
de Chine, foulard, stripes, checks, cotton voile or batiste.

36 bust and 38 hip require 1 % yard Georgette 39 or
40 inches wide, 2 Y yards taffeta 35 or 36 wide. Bottom
1 y 2 yard. Embroidery design 10755 trims blouse.

This blouse, 1761, is attractive for ladies of 32 to 44
bust. The skirt, 1750, is for 35 to 47 y^ hip.

1746—1826 —A tucked blouse and a plaited skirt make
an excellent combination for general wear. The blouse
has an unusually attractive collar and deeply cuffed one-
seam sleeve. The tucked front gives a soft effect in
crepe de Chine, wash silk, wash satin, silk crepe, hand¬
kerchief linen, cotton voile or batiste. The skirt is cut
in four pieces and the fulness at the sides can either be
laid in gathers or darts. Use linen, cotton poplin,
beach cloth, cotton gabardine, repp, check, plaid, etc.

36-inch bust and 38-inch hip require 2 y yards cotton
crepe 32 inches wide, 3 ba yards linen 35 or 36 inches
wide. Lower edge 2 M yards with plaits drawn out.

This blouse, 1746, is for ladies of 32 to 46 inches bust;
the skirt 1826, for ladies of 35 to 49 y 2 hip.

Blouse 1771
Skirt 1818

Blouse 1727
Skirt 1821

1752—1816—A very soft blouse is delightful for light cotton voile,
and a simple skirt is first choice for linen, cotton poplin, cotton gabar¬
dine, repp, serge, etc. The closing line of the blouse is particularly
pretty, and the convertible collar offers two neck possibilities. The
sleeves are one-seamed. You could use crepe de Chine, wash silks,
wash satin, crepe meteor, batiste, cotton voile, dimity or handker¬
chief linen. The skirt is cut in three pieces, and the front closing
gives a good trimming.

36-inch bust and 38-incli hip require 1 Y yard checked voile 39 or
40 inches wide, Y yard plain voile 39 or 40 inches wide, 2 Y yards
linen 36 inches wide. Lower edge 1 % yard.

This blouse, 1752, is becoming to ladies of 32 to 46 inches bust.
The skirt, 1816, is for ladies of 35 to 49 y 2 inches hip.

1727—1821 — Decidedly new is a circular skirt worn with a surplice
blouse. The skirt shows the latest flared tunic effect over a narrow
foundation. It can be made in one or two pieces, and the two-pieced
foundation used or omitted. The draped lines of the blouse are
soft and becoming. The sleeve lias one seam. Make the skirt of
faille, gros de Londres, moire, taffeta, satin, plaids or stripes.

36 bust and 38 hip require 2M yards organdy 39 or 40 inches wide,
3 % yards plaid silk 40 inches wide cut on a crosswise fold l 5 i yard
material 32 to 36 wide for upper part foundation. Bottom of founda¬
tion 1Y yard; circular skirt in full length 2)4 yards.

This blouse, 1727, is suitable for ladies of 32 to 46 inches bust.
The skirt, 1821, is for ladies of 35 to 49 K inches hip.

1771— 1818 — An adorable little blouse for crepe de Chine, silk crepe,
crepe meteor, silk voile, foulard, cotton voile, batiste or lace net ap¬
pears with a simple satin skirt. The blouse is made in one piece and
slips on over the head. The short kimono sleeve shows the new
French length. The straight skirt is also one-pieced. It is good-
looking in linen, cotton poplin, cotton gabardine, serge, gabardine or
satin. Both the blouse and skirt are extremely easy to make and
very effective. Lower edge measures 1M yard.

36-inch bust and 38-inch hip require 1M yard figured voile 39
or 40 inches wide, 2 )i yards satin 35 or 36 inches wide.

This blouse, 1771, is pretty for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust.
The skirt, 1818, is suitable for ladies of 35 to 45 inches hip.

Other views of these garments are shown on page 84

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

RAGE 73

Biouse 1800
Skirt 1362

BLOUSE AND SKIRT UNITE

Here is the New Draped Blouse
The Straight or Draped Skirt

1800—1671—A smart long blouse with a short sleeve and narrow
skirt makes a most desirable costume for Summer. Worn under
a coat the blouse gives a vest effect. It has the fashionable square
collarless neck and slips on over the head with a closing on the shoul¬
ders. The one-seam sleeves are made in the new French length.
Women and young girls use Georgette crepe, silk voile, chiffon cloth,
crepe de Chine, foulard, satin, cotton voile, batiste or linen for the
blouse. The skirt is cut in two pieces on smart lines, excellent tol¬
lmen, cotton gabardine, gingham, chambray or serge, tricotine or
satin. Embroidery design 10766 is used to trim the blouse.

36-inch bust and 38-inch hip require 234 yards linen 35 or 36 inches
wide, 2 J 4 yards linen 35 or 36 inches wide. Lower edge 134 yard.

This blouse, 1800, is for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust; it is also
adapted to misses. Theskirt, 1671, is for ladies of 35 to 47 C inches hip.

1729 — 1805—Wash satin and sports silk are used for a blouse
and belted skirt. The blouse has a graceful collar and a becoming
fulness in the front where the back comes over the shoulders. The
sleeves are made with one seam. The skirt is cut in two pieces on
very soft lines that would be especially effective in satin, crepe de
Chine, crepe meteor, foulard, charmeuse, taffeta, pongee, silk pop¬
lin, cotton voile, lawn, batiste, gingham, chambray, linen, cotton
poplin or gabardine. The belt is splendid and the pockets are new.
Use crepe de Chine, silk crepe, batiste, cotton voile, crepe meteor or
washable satin for the blouse. Lower edge 1 % yard.

36-inch bust and 38-inch hip require 2 y s yards wash satin 35 or
36 inches wide, 2%, yards sports satin 36 inches wide.

This blouse, 1729, is correct for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust. The
skirt, 1805, is for ladies of 35 to 4734 inches hip.

Draped blouse
1798
Skirt 1739
Embroidery
design 10685

Other views of these garments are shoiun on page 84

1798—1733—A blouse of a decidedly new type is worn with a taf¬
feta skirt. The blouse is draped, and finishes itself gracefully with
a soft sash in the back. The sleeves are cut with one seam and the
blouse can be made with a camisole lining under silk crepe, chiffon,
chiffon cloth, crepe de Chine, silk voile, cotton voile or batiste. The
skirt is very soft and is cut in two pieces, and has an unusual pocket
arrangement. Use cotton poplin, linen, cotton gabardine, gingham,
chambray, cotton prints, satin, taffeta, sports silks, serge or plaids.

36 bust and 38 hip require 1 % yard chiffon 39 or 40 inches wide,
2M yards taffeta 35 or 36 inches wide. Bottom 1 34 yard.

This blouse, 1798, is suitable for ladies of 32 to 42 inches bust.
The skirt, 1733, for ladies of 35 to 4754 inches hip.

1800—1362—The long blouse and tailored skirt lead all others on
straight lines of an accepted silhouette. It is a charming type of
blouse for a woman or young girl, and is suited to Georgette crepe,
silk voile, foulard, satin, cotton voile, batiste or linen. It siips on over
the head, closes on the shoulders and has one-seam sleeves. The
three-piece skirt has the correct lines and a lapped seam makes a
good finish in back. It could be of satin, tricotine, gabardine or serge.

36 bust and 38 hip require 234 yards indestructible voile 39 or 40
inches wide, 2 J 4 yards satin 35 or 36 inches wide. Bottom 1 34 yard.

This blouse, 1800, is nice for ladies of 32 to 44 inches bust; it is also
suitable for misses. The skirt, 1362, is correct for ladies of 35 to
47 34 inches hip.

1798—1739—Quite French in cut and detail is a blouse that appears
above an unusual skirt. The blouse is draped prettily to the figure
and forms a sash in back. The sleeves have one seam and the blouse
can be made with a camisole lining. This is the new length of separ¬
ate blouse and could be of silk crepe, crepe de Chine, silk voile, taffeta,
or cotton voile, batiste, etc. The skirt is cut in one piece and the
drapery gives the new widened hip. Use satin, charmeuse, taffeta
or light-weight serge. Embroidery design 10685 trims the blouse.

36 bust and 38 hip require 1 % yard satin 35 or 36 inches wide, 2%
yards satin 32 to 40 inches wide. Bottom 134 yard.

This blouse, 1798, is becoming for ladies of 32 to 42 inches bust.
The skirt, 1739, is correct for ladies of 35 to 45 inches hip.

PAGE 74 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 19!9

NEW STYLES IN LINGERIE

Dainty Garments Appear
In Intimate Guise

1790 —Something new in a corset cover is made
on excellent fitted lines that will appeal to the woman
who wants a brassifire effect, and likes it to come
down below the waistline. It can be cut with any
of the popular neck outlines, and offers a choice of
several lengths. The shield facing is especially de¬
sirable and the sleeves can be finished in three ways.
Long-cloth, cambric, muslin and batiste are suitable
materials to use for it.

36-inch bust requires 1% yard muslin 35 or 30
inches wide.

This corset cover is suitable for ladies of 34 to 48
inches bust.

7461 — 1791 — An inducement to systematic ex¬
ercise is a new gymnasium costume. The sailor or
middy blouse can close down the front instead
of slipping on over the head, and the yoke facing
has no shoulder seam. The bloomers are new.
They can be finished with a belt, or be either
buttoned or sewed to an under body. You can
make them of serge, sateen or wool poplin.

36-inch bust and 38-inch hip require 3% yards
linen 35 or 36 inches wide, 234 yards serge 44 wide.

This middy blouse, 7461, is correct for ladies of
32 to 42 inches bust; the bloomers for ladies of 35 to
49 34 inches hip.

1809 —This simple nightgown made with a square
yoke offers an inviting opportunity for lace or em¬
broidery. It is a popular type of nightgown and
extremely practical for general wear. The little
sleeve is very pretty and is made with one seam.
Use muslin, cambric, long-cloth or batiste. It would
bo nice for Winter wear in outing flannel.

36-inch bust requires 334 yards batiste 39 or 40
inches wide, % yard fancy tucking 18 inches wide
for front yoke.

It is excellent for ladies of 32 to 46 inches bust.

6508 — 1796—A one-piece corset cover is used with
new open drawers. The corset cover slips over the
head, and is easy to make. The drawers are
well cut on the new lines, and the plain back with¬
out plait or fulness is especially nice. They could
be of long-cloth, nainsook, cambric, batiste or muslin.

36 bust and 38 hip require 134 yard all-over
embroidery 40 inches wide, 134 yard nainsook 35 or
36 inches wide. Bottom of each leg about 30 inches.

This corset cover, 6508, is for ladies of 32 to 48
bust; the drawers, 1796, for ladies of 35 to 52 hip.

8329—1802 — Separate corset covers and drawers
are much worn this year. The corset cover has sev¬
eral neck outlines and a peplum. The closed draw¬
ers can be finished with an inverted plait, draw¬
strings or habit style in back.

36 bust and 38 hip require 134 yard batiste 35 or
36 inches wide, 1 y s yard batiste 35 or 36 inches wide.
Embroidery design 10754 trims the corset cover
and drawers. Lower edge of each leg about 28 inches.

This corset cover, 8329, is nice for ladies of 32 to
46 bust; the drawers, 1802, for ladies of 35 to 52 hip.

1643 — 9253 —An adorable pair of pajamas and a be¬
coming boudoir cap make a delightful sleeping or
negligee costume. The pajamas are cut with a one-
piece front. Use batiste, cotton voile, cotton crepe,
cross-bar, nainsook, crfpe de Chine, washable satin,
China silk and silk crepe for the pajamas.

36-inch bust requires 334 yards figured crepe de
Chine 39 or 40 inches wide, 34 yard material 36
inches wide for boudoir cap in ladies’ size.

These pajamas, 1643, are for ladies cf 32 to 44
bust. The boudoir cap, 9253, is for ladies and misses.

1824 —The sack nightgown is popular with many
women, and would be very warm and comfortable
for later in the year. It is an extremely simple gown
to make, and to wear, and does not require very
much material. A great many women like the long
one-seam sleeve and high collar, and the narrow
frilled edging is the usual finish. Cambric, muslin,
long-cloth, nainsook and flannelette are suitable.

36 bust requires 4 yards long-cloth 44 inches wide.

This nightgown is suitable for ladies of 32 to 48
inches bust measure.

Other views of these garments are shown on page 84

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 75

Apron and
cap 1781

House dress 1773

OF HOME INTEREST

For the Housekeeper
and the Traveler

1774 —The plain kimono of regulation type
holds a place of its own that nothing else
ever fills. This one is cut on excellent
straight lines, and is suitable for cotton crepe,
mull, lawn, dimity, challis, pongee, flowered
silk or dotted swiss. The one-seam sleeve
is set into an armhole cut with a slight depth.

36-inch bust requires 5 H yards figured
cotton crepe 32 inches wide, 1% yard plain
cotton crepe 20 inches wide. Lower edge
1 Vs yard.

This kimono is correct for ladies of 32 to 52
bust.

1774 —Night traveling loses much of its
discomfort to the woman who uses a Pullman
robe of dark China silk. The big hood and
long one-seam sleeve give desirable protection
in going back and forth to the dressing-
room. The slightly deep armhole is excellent
in a robe of this type. You could make it of
China silk, pongee or crepe de Chine.

36-inch bust requires 5% yards China silk
35 or 36 inches wide. Lower edge measures
1 Vs yard.

This Pullman robe is suitable for ladies of
32 to 52 bust.

Pullman robe 1774

Kimono 1774

1779 —-A kimono of cotton crepe is a constant source
of satisfaction throughout the wai’m weather, and
is also necessary at other seasons. The tucks in the
front make a pretty trimming, and distribute the
fulness nicely. The slightly deep armhole is com¬
fortable. Use cotton crepe, lawn, dotted swiss,
mull, challis, printed silk, satin, dimity, and as a
dressing-sack, lace, crepe de Chine, silk crepe, etc.

36 bust requires 5 If yards cotton crepe 32 inches
wide, 1% yard figured 20 wide. Bottom 1% yard.

It is for ladies of 32 to 52 inches bust.

1781 — She who preserves fruit preserves her clothes
as well by wearing a splendid apron that entirely
covers her dress. The body is cut in one with the
sleeves, and the collar and cuff add a pretty finish.
The large pockets are indispensable, and the little
cap is as becoming as it is useful. Use gingham,
chambray or percale.

36-inch bust requires 4 yards percale 35 or 36
inches wide, H yard percale 35 or 36 inches wide.
Lower edge 1 % yard.

This apron is attractive for ladies of 32 to 48 bust.

1777 —An unusual apron with simple kimono body,
and a pretty outline at the front is excellent for
gingham, chambray or percale. The short sleeve
and square neck are nice for housework. This
apron covers up one’s dress nicely. The pockets
are useful, and a little cap completes the costume.

36-inch bust requires 3% yards gingham 32 inches
wide, % yard chambray 32 inches wide. Lower
edge 1 yard.

This apron is splendid for ladies of 32 to 48 inches
bust.

House dress or over-all
apron and cap 1769

1773 —A gingham house dress is made in good-look¬
ing style that means outward efficiency and inward
satisfaction. It has the popular one-piece lines, and
the pocket and strap trim it effectively. The sleeves
are made with one seam, and a deep yoke can be
used or omitted. Gingham, chambray, linen, cot¬
ton poplin, cotton gabardine and percale are suitable
materials. Lower edge 1 % yard.

36-inch bust requires 5 if yards gingham 32 inches
wide, % yard chambray 32 inches wide.

This house dress is excellent for ladies of 32 to 52
inches bust.

1769— A very simple and practical house dress or
over-all apron is made witli a wide double front
that laps over and fastens with a belt in back. It
is an easy style to make and to launder. You could
use gingham, chambray, percale or linen. The
lront is convertible, and the collar is removable.
The cap is cut in two pieces. Bottom 1 % yard.

36-inch bust requires 5}4 yards chambray 32
inches wide, 1% yard material 32 inches wide, 14
yard material 18 or more inches wide for crown.

This apron is correct for ladies of 32 to 48 bust.

Other views of these garments are shown on paye 84

PAGE 76 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

How the Lawsons Increased

Their Income

Nellie Lawson driving: a beautiful new
car! That was the first sight that loomed
up before me as I stepped off the train.
For the moment I was speechless.

“Jump in Effie, and don’t look so
amazed,” Nellie said, and as she spoke 1
realized for the first time how beautiful
she had grown to be. Her face was aglow
with the joy of living.

No sooner was I seated, than away we
went whirling around the corner, on our
way to Nellie’s home.

“Well, here we are!” was Nellie’s
remark as she turned in at the private
driveway that led to a neat little garage
attached to the house.

Every minute I was becoming more
impatient to hear all about it—this won¬
derful little car —this charming home
with its beautiful trees—were they really
hers?

Then we had luncheon. It was delici¬
ous and served by a spotless maid.

Finally, I could no longer restrain my
curiosity, and I said: “Out with it Nellie,
tell me all about your good fortune.”

Then she told me how it all happened.
She made a resolution to help her hus¬
band, Phil. She began to look about
her, and one day came across an adver¬
tisement for women of refinement to look
after the subscription interests of The
Delineator and Everybody’s Maga¬
zine.

This seemed like an answer to her
prayers. She sent at once to the publish¬
ers for particulars. They came almost
by return mail. Then she started in.

In less than two years, by giving only
her spare time, she earned $2000.00. With¬
in six months Phil bought a share in the
store where he worked. Later he opened
two stores of his own in near-by towns.

The Lawsons are now prosperous, but
Nellie still keeps up her subscription
work—it’s so interesting, and besides, she
is planning to send Phil, Jr. and little
Nell to college.

The story of Mrs. Lawson is the story
of women everywhere who have earned
the extra money they wanted. Many of
them had only an hour a day; some a half
hour, while others have given all their
time to the work. They earned $20.00,
$50.00, $100.00, $200.00 a month.

There is no limit to the amount of money
you can earn by looking after new and re¬
newal subscriptions for The Delinea¬
tor and Everybody’s Magazine. We
need representatives in every vicinity.
If you have a spare hour now and then
and can use extra money—write to us now.

The Butterick Publishing Company
359 Butterick Building New York, N. Y.

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THE NEW LINE OF FULLER TUNICS

Two Silhouettes Offered in Summer Frocks _ , ,

/ / / , if / i^-fr- ~ C /

Dress 1827

Dress 1825

1827 — A new and more bouffant silhouette is suggested
by the fulness of tunic in a dress of flowered voile.
The tunic has a straight lower edge and is used over a
straight skirt. Young girls or small women use cotton
voile, batiste, dimity, taffeta, satin, foulard or crepe de
Chine. The sleeve is one-seamed and the dress can be
made with a camisole lining. Bottom 1% yard.

16 years requires 4 U yards flowered voile 39 or 40
inches, % yard plain voile 39 or 40 inches wide.

This dress is attractive for misses of 14 to 19 years; it
is correct for small women.

1825—A fuller tunic gives an interesting new line over
a narrow foundation. The draped jumper is cut deeply
to show the kimono side body of chiffon to the best
advantage. This is attractive for a young girl or small
woman in taffeta, satin, charmeuse, foulard or faille
alone or with silk voile, etc. The tunic is straight. The
side body is sewed to a camisole lining.

17 years requires 3 yards satin 40 inches wide, 1 yard
chiffon 24 inches wide for side body, 1 % yard material 24
to 36 wide for upper part of skirt. Bottom 13T yard.

This dress is suitable for misses of 14 to 19 years; it
is adapted to small women.

1797 — English print is used for a smart type of simple
one-piece dress. The plaits at each side of the front
and back are becoming to young girls or to women.
This dress is easy to launder in gingham, chambray,
linen, cotton poplin, cotton gabardine; it is also suited
to satin, taffeta or silk poplin, and can be made with
or without the body lining. Bottom 2 yards.

32 bust or 15 to 16 years requires 4% yards print 32
inches wide, % yard chambray 32 inches wide.

This dress is excellent for misses of 32 to 34 bust; it
is also correct for ladies.

1793 —Very slim and youthful are the lines of a smart
one-piece dress that is suitable for a young girl or a
woman. The closing can be placed in the front or back,
and the dress made with or without a body lining. It
is an excellent style for linen, cotton gabardine, repp,
gingham, chambray, cotton poplin, satin or taffeta.
It has excellent pockets.

34 bust or 17 to 18 years requires 3% yards plaid
gingham 32 inches wide, M yard linen 22 or more inches
wide. Lower edge 1 % yard.

This dress is attractive for misses of 32 to 34 bust;
it is also correct for ladies.

1827

1762 —The outline of the collar and the tucks of the
skirt are things that make a charming frock for a
Summer afternoon. The very short one-seam sleeve is
French. The dress closes in back and the skirt is
straight; it can be made over a camisole lining. Young
girls and small women use cotton voile, batiste, lawn,
dimity, mull, gingham, etc. Lower edge 1 yard.

17 years requires 3J4 yards organdy 39 or 40 inches
wide, % yard chiffon 39 or 40 inches wide.

This dress is nice for misses of 14 to 19 years; it is
also for small women.

Dress 1797

1793

Dress 1793

1797

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 77

EMPIRE AND LONG BLOUSE LINE

Girls and Frocks for August Days

r~

/f /

All J

11 1 V

l\

H

Dress 1743

1800

1466

1830 —Flowered cotton voile makes a dear little after¬
noon dress with an Empire jumper. The sleeves are
set into a blouse lining, and the skirt is cut in two
pieces. Young girls or small women use cotton voile,
batiste, organdy, lawn, mull, dimity, gingham, cham-
bray, foulard, taffeta, satin or charmeuse.

17 years requires yards figured cotton voile

39 or 40 inches wide, 1 % yard plain cotton voile 39 or 40
wide for collar, sleeves and lining. Lower edge 1 % yard.

This dress is graceful for misses of 14 to 19 years;
it is also adapted to small women.

1810 — Standaway collar and bouffant hip drapery are
charming things for a young girl iin a soft charmeuse
frock. The surplice lines of the draped Empire waist
are suitable for a small woman also. The sleeve is one-
seamed, and the skirt two-pieced. Taffeta, moire,
satin, charmeuse, faille silk and foulard are effective
materials for this dress. Lower edge 1 % yard.

17 years z-equires 4 >4 yards charmeuse 39 or 40 inches
wide, M yai’d contrasting 36 or more inches wide.

This dress is becoming to misses of 14 to 19 years; it
is also adapted to small women.

1814 —Half up the front and all the way down the
back run the buttons on an Empire frock of English
print. The skirt is straight and the dress can be
made with or without the body lining. The dress
closes on the left side in front. Use linen, cotton poplin,
gingham, cotton prints, repp, satin or charmeuse for
young girls or small women. Bottom 1J^ yard.

16 years requires 3M yards print 32 inches wide,
% yai'd organdy 39 or 40 including pipings and sash.

This dress is attractive for misses of 14 to 19 years;
it is also nice for small women.

1743 — A tucked peplum, a frilled sleeve, and here’s the
frock for young sixteen. A tuck on each side of the
front and back softens the lines of the simple Empire
waist. The sleeve is one-seamed; the skirt straight.
Girls or small women use cotton voile, cotton mar¬
quisette, batiste, mull, lawn, silk crepe or taffeta.

16 years requires 4 yards cotton voile 39 or 40 inches
wide, M yard material 18 or more wide for tucker, H
yard net 40 wide for plaitings, Bottom 1 y H yai*d.

This dress is pretty for misses of 14 to 19 years; it is
also correct for small women.

1800—1466 — A long blouse and a deeply cuffed skirt
make an enviable costume on a Summer day. The
blouse slips over the head, closes on the shoulders, and
has a one-seam sleeve. It is suitable for girls or women
in silk voile, batiste or linen. The skirt is cut in two
pieces. Embroidery 10753 trims blouse.

34 bust, or 17 to 18 years, for blouse and 17-year
skirt require 2}4 yards linen 35 or 36 inches wide, 2%
yards linen 36 wide. Bottom 1% yard.

This blouse, 1800, is for misses of 32 to 34 bust; it is
adapted to ladies. The skirt, 1466, is for misses of 14
to 19 years; also correct for small women.

Bill

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!*« correct---LASH-BRO W INE.-' It's imitated.

LOOK. ZOR The Girl with the tlose. It's on every box,

MAYBELL LABORATORIES, 4303-35 Grand Blvd., CHICAGO

. ‘ -

V $>ara£nif

If A Llastic LSrassiere

TV/TADE of “Paraknit,” a new
- LVJ - kind of light weight, open
work, elastic material, invented by
us; very, very flexible, extremely
stylish, and healthful.

Reinf orced diaphragm strip
at lower edge supports and reduces
diaphragm without pressure, and
is advantageous.

$2 and $2.50 at dealers’, or write
for illustrated booklet.

TREO COMPANY, INC.

^ 160-D Fifth Avenue, New York

Makers of Treo Elastic Girdle

PAGE 78 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

fashion says
the use of

is necessary so lon£ as
sleeveless &owns and sheer fabrics for
sleeves are worn. It assists freedom of move¬
ment, unhampered grace, modest elegance and
correct style. That is why

“they all use Delatone'”

Delatone is an old and well known scien¬
tific preparation for the
quick, safe and certain
removal of hairy
growths, no matter how
thick or stubborn. After
application the skin is
clear, firm and hairless,
with no pain or discol¬
oration.

Beauty specialists recom¬
mend Delatone for
removal of objectionable
hair from face, neck or
arras.

Druggists sell Delatone;
or an original 1 oz. jar
will be mailed to any
address on receipt of
$1 by

The Sheffield pharmacal Co.

Dept. HD 339 S. Wabash Ave.. Chicago, Ill. <30

'Beniamin

From One Socket

Why do without light when using your
electric light socket for the washer?

—bEH/amjn v

Gives extra outlets to'single sockets.

At Your Dealer’s

3^359

92 OR SUB each
BENJAMIN
ELECTRIC
MFC. CO.

Chicago
New York
an Francisco

No

Reduce Your Flesh

Exactly where desired by wearing

Dr. Walter’s

Famous Pure Gum

REDUCING RUBBER GARMENTS

Cover any part of body. Endorsed by physicians.
\ t druggists or send for iilustrated booklet. Bust
Reducer, $5.50. Chin Reducer, $2. As illustrated

Dr. Jeanne D. E. Waller, Billings Bldg., (4th Floor)
353 6th Avenue, New York
(Ent. on 34th St., 3rd Door East)

1794

1770

Dress 1770
Hat 1640

1749

1819

1819

1778

1778

FOR SUMMER SPORTS

Straight Dresses,

1749 —The long blouse offers a delightful costume
with its opportunity for contrasting material or
effective embroidery. The blouse slips on over the
head, and its middy lines are liked by girls of this
age. The one-seam sleeve ends in a new cuff. The
straight skirt is sewed to an underbody. Use linen,
cotton poplin, drill, pique, cliambray or gingham.

8 years requires 1 Y yard linen 35 or 36 inches
wide, 1 Y yard English print 32 inches wide.

It is nice for girls of 4 to 15 years.

1819 — A new naval blouse and a dark skirt are
eligible for many junior sports. The blouse slips on
over the head, and the yoke facing lias no shoulder
seam and can lie omitted. The skirt is straight and
can be finished with a belt, or an underbody with a
shield facing. Use drill, duck, linen or cotton poplin.

12 years requires 2% yards duck 32 inches wide,
2 Y yards linen 35 or 30 inches wide for collar facing,
cuffs and skirt.

This dress is for girls of 4 to 15 years.

1778 — A middy dress solves many problems in the
junior’s life. In this one the blouse slips on over the
head and is made in the regulation sailor fashion. A
yoke facing can be used, and the straight skirt could
be plaited and sewed to a belt, or to an underbody
finished with a shield facing. Use linen, cotton pop¬
lin or cliambray, or serge with drill.

10 years size requires 3f4 yards drill 32 inches
wide.

This dress is suitable for girls of 4 to 15 years.

1811 — Plaits on the sides and a broad panel that
makes its own belt proves a very becoming dress to
the junior. The one-seam sleeve is a nice length for
Summer and the round neck is fashionable. You
could make this dress of gingham, cliambray, cotton
poplin or linen; it would be a good school dress later
in serge, checks or plaids.

10 years requires 3 if yards gingham 27 inches
wide, % yard lawn 35 or 36 inches wide.

This dress is pretty for girls of 8 to 15 years.

1794 —A demure little fichu collar ends in a dashing
bow on an Empire frock. The dress slips on over
the head, and the one-seam sleeve is sewed into an
armhole with a slight depth. The skirt is straight.
Use gingham, cliambray, cotton prints, cotton voile,
linen, cotton gabardine, organdy, lawn, mull, dotted
swiss, pongee and challis.

8 years requires 1 Y yard English print 32 inches
wide, Y yard organdy 39 or 40 inches wide.

It is becoming to girls of 3 to 10 years.

1770—1640 —Box plaits give an excellent line to a
one-piece dress of linen worn with a linen hat. The
sleeves have one seam and the neck can be finished
in another way. Use gingham, chambray, pique, etc.

10 years requires 2% yards linen 35 or 36 inches
wide, Y yard contrasting linen 35 or 36 inches wide;
for hat in 11 years or 21 head measure Y yard linen
32 or more wide, 1 Y yard ribbon 2 inches wide.

This dress is for girls of 2 to 12 years; the hat for
children and girls of 1 to 11 years.

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 ' PAGE 79

Dress 1834
Embroidery design 10735

AND AFTERNOONS

Tunic and Drapery

1834 —Embroidered jumper and peg-top skirt form
a charming silk dress for junior afternoon affairs.
The draped jumper ends in a sash and the kimono
underbody is easy to make. The drapery of the two-
piece skirt is graceful. Use taffeta, flowered silks,
crepe de Chine, etc., alone or with silk crepe.

13 years requires 334 yards taffeta 35 or 3b inches
wide, % yard silk crepe 32 or more inches wide for un¬
derbody. Embroidery design 10735 trims the dress.

It is pretty for girls of 8 to 15 years.

1759 — Linen in two shades makes an unusually nice
tub frock. The dress slips on over the head, and the
closing is arranged on the shoulders. The long body
follows the fashionable straight lines, and the sleeves
are cut in kimono style. You could use linen, cot¬
ton poplin, gingham, chambray and cotton prints.

10 years requires 134 yard linen 35 or 36 inches
wide for upper part, % yard linen 35 or 36 wide for
lower part. Embroidery design 10726 trims dress.

It is pretty for girls of 8 to 15 years.

1799 —The lemonade counter is always the center
of attraction and a new dress of English print is well
worth attention. Guimpe dresses are extremely
popular, and this jumper has a very pretty outline.
The kimono blouse can be gathered and the skirt is
straight. Use cotton prints, linen, gingham, etc.

12 years requires 2% yards English print 32
inches wide, 134 yard nainsook 35 or 36 inches wide
for body. Smocking design 10592 trims the dress.

It is nice for girls of 6 to 15 years.

1803 —Rings on her fingers and rings on her foulard
frock bring happiness to any junior. The jumper
makes a sash and is cut low to show the kimono
underbody and new puff sleeve. A soft tunic is used
over the straight skirt. Use foulard, taffeta, crepe
de Chine, check or plaid silk with silk crepe.

14 years requires 2% yards foulard 39 or 40 inches
wide, 134 yard silk crepe 35 to 40 wide for under¬
body, y% yard 35 or 36 wide for upper part of skirt.

It is graceful for girls of 8 to 15 years.

1740 —Gingham means much in the career of the
eight-year-old, especially when it combines with a
blouse of batiste. The outline of the jumper is effec¬
tive and the clusters of plaits break the lines of the
straight skirt. Gingham, chambray, cotton poplin,
linen or cotton prints are nice with a blouse, made
with a one-seam sleeve of lawn, nainsook, etc.

8 years requires 134 yard gingham 32 inches wide,
134 yard batiste 35 or 36 inches wide for blouse.

It is nice for girls of 4 to 15 years.

1794 —A very sprightly little frock of linen goes in
for many of the best Summer sports. The dress
slips on over the head and the simple Empire body
is very quaint and pretty. The one-seam sleeve is
set into a slightly deep armhole and the skirt is
straight. Gingham, chambray, cotton prints, cot¬
ton voile, dimity, cotton poplin, linen, cotton gabar¬
dine and organdy make excellent dresses.

6 years require 1 % yard linen 35 or 36 wide.

It is becoming to girls of 3 to 10 years.

Send 15c.
to Vivaudou,
Times Bldg.,
New York,
for a generous
sample of
Mavis Perfume.

NAOMI
CHILDERS f
© FLOYD j

Toner water $ 1.25

FACE POWDER 30 $
mUGE 50 $
TALC 25 $

Used by those you admire

takes all the odor
out of perspiration

“Mum” is the great toilet com¬
fort for men and women. It
neutralizes all body odors.

Easy to use. A little is enough.
It lasts from bath to bath. “Mum”
is harmless to skin and clothes.

25 cents at Drug and Department Stores or by mail from
us, postage and war tax paid on receipt of 26 cents.
“Mum,” is a trade-mark registered in TJ. S. Patent Office

“Mum” Mfg Co 1106 Chestnut St., Phila.

KELL

oGGS

•fiiimpation
Snand
the

Green
Package \

BRA IV

h

FOH CONSTIPATION ]

Kelloggs Bran

(COOKED)

HEADY TO SERVE

m

THE KELLOGG FOOD COMPANY

BATTLE CREEK- MICHIGaN
»n Wt IpHt .6 4 01

of Best
Grocers

Freckles

are as “a cloud before the sun*' hiding
your brightness, your beauty. Why not
remove them? Don't delay. Use

STILLMAN’S 8£?

Made especially to remove freckles.

Leaves the skin clear, smooth and \\ ith-
out a blemish. Prepared by specialists
with years of experience. Money re¬
funded if not satisfactory. 50c per jar.

Wrile today for particulars and free booklet,

“WouldstThouBe Fair” 1

Contains manybeauty hints, and
describes a number of elegant
preparations indispensable to the
toilet. Sold by all druggists.

STILLMAN CREAM CO.
Dept. D Aurora. Ill.

PAGE 80 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

^iiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!

Wouldn’t You

I Spend Two Cents |

to find out how you
can turn your spare
time into dollars ?

| That is all hundreds of others have §

| spent—the price of postage to write |

| to us. To-day they are turning |

| golden spare minutes into golden j

dollars — $5.00 to $50.00 a week. |

They wanted extra money, and The I

| ‘Delineator offered them the very oppor- |

| tunity for which they were looking. As [

| readers of The Delineator, they knew |

| how adequately this splendid publication |

I would help other women in their home |

1 towns to understand and meet after-war [

| conditions—to become more efficient— |

| to make every dollar do its best. So, |

| they welcomed this opportunity.

I They found many who had always |

| wanted The Delineator but had never j

| subscribed. Still others were sending in |

| their subscriptions direct, but were only |

| too glad to renew through them. Their |

| work was pleasant — it was profitable. |

| The same opportunity exists in your g

| town—for you! If you want to turn |

1 your spare time into money, write your |

[ name and address here—

CLIP AND MAIL TO-DAY

| Tlame . I

| Street . i

| City . State . I

THE DELINEATOR

I 360 Butterick Building, New York, N. Y. 1

Hiti iiiiii! i mu ii ii iiiiiiii in in ii ii i ii ii iiiiii!i mu in in ii i in 11 n in hi ii hi [i in i! in in uni ii i h in ii 11! ii iti ii ii hi hi in ii in mu in iiiiiii!i in

Easy
to use,

economical, safe
^ and sure. Mixes with ^
any kind of food that
attracts rats and mice.
‘They don’t die in the house.”
'I'he oldest and largest selling
exterminator. Sold by
druggists and general .
H| stores everywhere, m

Booklet S3

tVrite for Free

E.S. WELLS, Chemist
^ Jersey City

N. J. ^

The Ni||
Greatest Reading
Circle

Y OUR boy joins the world’s
greatest reading circle when
hetakes The American Boy. Five
hundred thousand boys read

THE AMERICAN BOY

They like it best. Their parents
approve its tone. It has more stories,
departments and special fea-
tures. Let him join this
raffed wholesome company

today. fl

The Sprague Pub. Co. Im
12 American Bldg. M
f Detroit, Mich.

$2.00 ,t y far Sj8B&

20c c °py

COSTUMES FOR DAY

Simple Little Short Dresses and

AND NIGHT

Long Nightgowns

1807—Embroidered hat and gingham frock, salt water and plenty
of sand complete her happiness. The dress has a quaint yoke,
one-seam sleeves and a soft, straight skirt.

3 years requires 1 % yard gingham 32 inches wide, x /s yard con¬
trasting 32 inches wide, % yard material 20 or more inches wide
for hat adapted from embroidery design 10750.

This dress is excellent for children of 2 to 6 years.

1823—A new pair of rompers are a great asset on the beach.
The sleeves are made with one seam and rather a deep armhole,
and the closing arrangement is particularly good. Use gingham,
ehambray, linen, cotton gabardine, poplin or repp.

2 years requires 1 y 2 yard gingham 32 inches wide, % yard
plain gingham 27 inches wide.

These rompers are nice for children of 1 to 5 years.

1828—Soft plaits and fancy yoke are just the thing for a charn-
bray dress, worn with a new r embroidered hat. The sleeve is
made with one seam. Use gingham, ehambray, linen, etc.

4 years requires 15* yard ehambray 32 inches wide, K yard
contrasting 32 wide; % yard material 20 or more wide for hat.
The hat has been adapted from embroidery design 10750.

This dress is suitable for children of 1 to 8 years.

1815— For her debut in short clothes comes a darling little dress
of batiste. It is extremely simple and becoming, and can be
finished with the fulness laid in a plait under the arms and
at the center of the back, or in a gored seam under the arm.
The sleeve has one seam. Use nainsook, lawn, batiste or dimity.

2 years requires l}4, yard batiste 35 or 36 inches wide.
Embroidery design 10732 trims the dress.

This dress is suitable for girls of X A to 5 years.

1812—An excellent type of sack nightgown for every-day wear
is shown here. It is very simple to make and the little frilled
edging gives a pretty finish to the one-seam sleeve and turn-
down collar. Young girls or small women use cambric, long-cloth,
nainsook or muslin.

16 years requires 4 yards nainsook 35 or 36 inches wide.

This nightgown is suitable for misses of 14 to 19 years; it is
also correct for small women.

1832—Sweet dreams for dolly and small mother are assured with
such a prettily frilled and pocketed nightgown. The square
yoke is attractive and the soft gathers below have the right
amount of fulness. The sleeve is made with one seam.
Use nainsook, long-cloth, cambric, muslin, batiste or cotton
crepe.

9 years requires 2 % yards muslin 35 or 36 inches wide.

This nightgown is suitable for girls of 3^ to 13 years.

1831—A square bertha and deep yoke make an adorable dress
for cotton voile, batiste, lawn, 'nainsook, mull, handkerchief
linen, cross-bar, gingham or ehambray. The short sleeve is
made with one seam and the skirt is straight. The bertha gives
a new note to the dress.

5 years requires 1M yard cotton voile 35 or 36 inches wide.

This dress is attractive for girls of 2 to 6 years.

THE DELINEATOR. TOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 81

« '

8uil9238

Little boys’ dress
9180

TN CHOOSING clothes for
her youngest son the
modern mother steers a
course midway between too
boyish lines that would steal
several years away from
small boyhood and too Lord
Fauntleroy effects that would
make him an object of de¬
rision among his fellows.
Little suits can be quaint
without being effeminate, and
remain practical, wearable
and washable at the same
time. At this season they
are made of the heavier
wash materials such as linen,
cotton gabardine, poplin,
repp, galatea, khaki, denim,
drill, chambray, gingham
and madras. The most boy¬
ish colors are white, linen
blue, tan, navy blue and
white used together, and
white with scarlet, navy or
linen blue collars and cuffs.
Pink and the lighter blues,
greens and yellows are also
used for the small boy.

Jumper suit 8337
Embroidery design
10676

Outing shirt 1835
Trousers 1115

Romper suit 1833

~A Support for Pants Hose

Ages 4 to 18

L ESS expensive,

. less drudgeful
than under¬
waists. No mending,
tubbing, or button
sewing.

Kazoo doesn’t bind
like belts or round
Adjustable'! garters. Encourages
^BucKLEy straight shoulders
and keeps hose and
pants smooth.

At Boys’ Clothing and Furnishing
Depts., or write us. 75c and $1.00
(In Canada 20 cents more)

Send for our “reason why 93
booklet 4, “For Real Boys 39

HARRIS SUSPENDER CO.

694 Broadway, at 4th Street, New York

WHEN FASHION COMPETES IN SPORTS

Clothes and Boys are Built for Active Careers

9180 —He who takes a long leap looks well in a new dress of repp.
It slips on over the head and laces up down the front in an en¬
trancing way just like a sailor’s. The long shoulder is good and
the yoke can be omitted. The trousers are straight. Use
galatea, pique, linen, poplin, repp, pique and madras. This is
a very boyish looking dress, and the plaits are becoming to a
child.

3 years requires 2 y H yards repp 30 inches wide, % yard contrast¬
ing rep]) 35 or 36 inches.

This dress is nice for boys of 1 to 4 years.

9238 — It’s a small Robin Hood who takes his bow in hand and
starts out in a suit of linen. The blouse has simple good-look¬
ing lines that are quite boyish enough to please young son. The
trousers are straight. Poplin, shantung, pique, chambray, galatea,
linen, Japanese crepe and madras are suitable materials for
this little suit. The collar and cuffs in contrast make a nice
trimming.

4 years requires 2 y s yards linen 36 inches wide, M yard con¬
trasting material 36 inches wide.

This suit is nice for boys of 2 to 5 years.

8337—A jumper suit with white waist and dark trousers is a wise
choice for Summer adventures. The square neck and simple
sleeve are attractive, and the suspenders give a costume effect.
Use linen, cottons, madras, lawn or dimity for the] waist with
trousers of chambray, galatea, linen or gingham. The scalloping

makes a neat finish that is easily and quickly done.

5 years requires 1 % yard linen 35 or 36 inches wide for waist,
IRi yard contrasting linen 36 inches wide. Embroidery design
10676 trims the waist.

This jumper suit is nice for boys of 2 to 6 years.

1835 — 1115 —The best type of outing shirt and smart trousers are
shown here. The shirt is cut on the latest lines, with new collar
and cuffs, and is suitable for madras, percale, galatea or flannel.
The trousers could be made of serge, flannel or cheviot.

15-inch neck and 34-inch waist require 3 yards wash silk
35 or 36 inches wide, 1% yard striped cassimere 54 inches wide
for the trousers.

This outing shirt, 1835, is correct for boys or men, 12 to 19 inches
neck measure. The trousers, 1115, are suitable for boys or men of
26 to 50 niches waist measure.

1833 — A suit'of an entirely new order made in easy romper fash¬
ion is especially nice for khaki, denim, galatea, chambray, cottons
or gingham for the small boy. The waist has a convenient front
closing, comfortable short sleeves, and the trousers are straight.
It makes a good-looking costume worn with the little jacket.
This would be a nice suit to choose for a combination of
materials.

5 years requires 1% yard khaki 35 or 36 inches wide, yard
chambray 32 inches wide.

The romper suit is nice for boys of 2 to 7 years.

BABY DIMPLES

For a smile all the while"

K EEP your baby happy and
free from rusty pin pricks—
insist on Baby Dimples Safety Pins.

“Both the point and the spring
are always perfectly protected—
they cannot come unfastened and
they’re absolutely rustproof.”

Nickel, black or gold-plated—
a size for every use—10c a card
at all good shops.

Samstag’s

1200 Broadway New York

Send for Colonial Quality Booklet—the index to
standardized "National Needfuls. ”

Keeps Skin Smooth, Firm, Fresh
— Youthful Looking

To dispel the tell-tale lines of age,
illness or worry—to overcome
flabbiness and improve facial
contour —there is nothing quite
so good as plain

Powdered SAXOLITE

Effective for wrinkles, crowsfeet, en¬
larged pores, etc., because it “tightens”
and tones the skin and underlying tissue.
No harm to tenderest skin. Get an ounce
package, follow the simple directions—see what just one appli¬
cation will do. Sold at all drug stores.

Be a NURSE

Earn $18 to $3
per week in thi
congenial, re
■ « -w- “ spec ted vocation

Any woman 18 or over can learn under our simple, per
fected home study system. No interference wit!
your present work. System founded 20 years ago b
O. J. Perkins, M.D. Thousands of successful stu
dents and graduates. Low tuition. Small monthl
payments. Nurse’s outfit free. Hospital training i
. desired- Send today for 32-lesson pages and large il
; lustrated catalog. CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSIN 4
Dept. 68, 116 S. Michigan Ave., Chicago

PAGE 82 THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919

MAIL IT
TO-DAY!

Manager, Subscription Division

Please tell me all about your
plan for making money. This
does not put me under any obli¬
gation.

. Name

* Street _- '

j City - I

I State _ \

It May Be Worth
$1,000.00 to You

Suppose you are offered a
wonderful job — good pay, a
real future, and pleasant inter¬
esting work.

Suppose this job keeps you
healthy and happy, outdoors in
the fresh air and sunlight.

Suppose you can earn all the
money you want, work as many
hours a day as you like, and
take off as many days as you
please, with no one to order
you around.

Suppose you need no experi¬
ence and no capital, and yet will
be helped to build up for your¬
self a business of your own,
permanent and growing, paying
you a regular income.

Isn’t that the kind of a job
you want?

Well, take a pencil, cross out
every “suppose” in this ad.
There is no supposition about
what remains. It is a fact.

I am actually offering you this
wonderful job right now!

I can prove to you that on
this very job many other men
and women, situated just like
yourself, are earning hundreds
of dollars a year in spare time,
and thousands of dollars yearly
in full time. I can give you their
names and addresses, and even
show you their pictures. It is
really true.

To get started, all they did
was to sign a coupon like the
one above, and send it in to us
promptly.

You do the same, and before
the end of another month you
will be looking back on the day
you read this ad as one of the
luckiest days in your life, because
very soon you will be earning
$ 100 . 00 —$ 1 , 000 . 00 —$ 3 , 000.00
a year, depending only upon
the time you can give.

If you can use extra money
and will sell us one hour or ten
hours a day, sign the coupon
and mail it now to

Manager, Subscription Division

THE DELINEATOR

35 Butterick Bldg., New York, N. Y.

THE STENCIL POINTS THE WAY TO A NEWLY

EMBROIDERED FIELD

BY MARIE ASHLEY

TURANTO STITCH

A VERY striking and
unusual embroidery,
called Turanto, a new
self-padding stitch, ap¬
pears on some of the late
Summer house-linen, and
I am illustrating it this
month on a beautiful
centerpiece and buffet-
scarf. It is quite simple
to do, and works up ef¬
fectively and quickly. It
is a new type of stitch that
pads itself, which will ap¬
peal to the woman who is
always impatient to get
to the really pretty part
of embroidery without
stopping to do the filling
in first. This stitch is
especially suitable for
embroidery designs
107(13 and 10764 and is
good-looking on linen. You will need to
use No. 10 tightly twisted embroidery
cotton for doing this work. It is pretty
done either in all white cotton or in
colors. This makes especially nice pick¬
up w y ork for the porch or beach as it is so
easy to do and works up so quickly. A
new stitch is particularly good at this time
when many women are embroidering their
house-linen for the Autumn.

TN COMMENCING to embroider, bring
your needle up at the left side of the
petal about one-half of the distance from
the lower end. Push the needle through
the extreme point and bring it out on the
right side of the petal opposite the first
stitch. Then push the needle down on
the right of the point (close to the last
thread) and bring the needle out on the left
side just below the first stitch. Cross to the
right side of the stitch in the point and bring
the needle up on the right-hand side just
below the last stitch. Then cross to the
left side and push the needle down just
below the last stitch. Continue in this
way until the entire petal is covered. The
leaves and stems are to be done in outline
embroidery and the scallops are worked
in buttonhole stitch.

For a buffet scarf this design is altogether
charming and may be used to good ad¬
vantage here.

S OME women achieve distinction and
smartness in fashion by instinct, others
by reducing, and still others by the
theory that any means justify the ends. In
embroidery as in other fields there are many
mediums; success lies mainly in adopting
and adapting the right one at the psy¬
chological moment. Embroideries of all
kinds, carried out in different ways, are
being used a great deal this season, but
one of the newest and most unusual
development is shown in stenciling
applied on waists and frocks. It makes
a very attractive trimming used in this
way.

Stenciling has been used previously a
great deal for house-linens and in deco¬
rating. but its appearance on woman's and
children’s clothing is quite a novelty, and
one that could well be adopted generally,
for it is most effective,
delightfully easy to do,
and much quicker than
embroidery. It is quite
practical also for Summer
fabrics as it launders
nicely and wears well.

Stenciling is being
shown on many of the
newest French blouses.

I am illustrating a very
beautiful design on a
smart draped blouse,
and the stenciling gives
the effect of an extreme¬
ly rich and elaborate
all-over embroidery.

The blouse illustrated
was made of tan linen,
and stenciled in oil-
paints, the stenciling
then edged with outline
embroidery. Chiffon,
organdy or any of the
Summer wash materials
would be suitable and
would take the sten¬
ciling nicely. Embroi¬
dery design 10766 is par¬
ticularly well adapted
for stenciling.

yOU will need the following articles for
your outfit to do the waist: blouse 1761,
embroidery design 10766. Of course you
will want to choose your material and de¬
cide on the color you are to use. The
stencil-board is the best thing to use, but
if you have not got one, a thin cardboard
will do nicely. If you are not using the
stencil-board, you can use either thin card¬
board or heavy Manila paper, and either
of these two latter materials should be
shellacked on both sides before using.
Brush one side with the shellac and let it
dry, and then shellac the other side. You
will need a sharp penknife or stoyd, and
oil-paint or stencil dyes or pastes, also a
fiat-end brush, and turpentine or gasoline,
thumb-tacks, white blotting-paper and a
piece of cloth to dry the brush. You can
do the work on a wooden table or a board.

T AY blouse 1761 on your material and
outline it with basting-thread. Then
stamp the embroidery design on the ma¬
terial of the waist, just as if you were
going to embroider it. Cut a rose out of
the embroidery design and one of each of
the small curls. Paste their comers lightly
to the stencil-board, for a warm iron some¬
times blisters the board, so it is safer to
paste the design in place.

Tack down the stencil-board (having the
embroidery design pasted on it) to the

Blouse 1761
Embroidery design 10766

You will need to use very little paint.
Have a piece of cheese-cloth to wipe off all
the unnecessary paint from this brush.
This is called a dry brush, and if this rule
is followed carefully there will be few
tragedies in stenciling. Nearly all the
mistakes are due to using a brush that is
too wet, for too much paint will blur the
edge. Now rub the paint into the ma¬
terial between the holes of the stencil.

wooden board or table; or you could put
it on a heavy piece of glass. Then cut each
line very carefully with the point of the
sharp knife, pressing the knife down very
hard so that a good clear cut is made.
After the stencil has been cut out, lay a
piece of the blotting-paper on the board.
Smooth the waist material over it and
place the stenciled rose over one of the
roses on the waist. Hold it firmly in place
with the thumb-tacks.

Mix a little paint, using it just as dry
as possible; wet your brush with the tur¬
pentine before dipping it in the paint.

Do not be afraid to brush too hard, for
the less paint there is and the harder it is
put on, the better it will be. When all the
open spaces have been brushed in, remove
the stencil, and place it upon another
flower. If you have to reverse the stencil,
wipe it very clean with a clean cloth
saturated in turpentine and clean off
all the paint, then turn it over and use it.

A FTER you have finished stenciling the
entire design, place a damp cloth over
the wrong side of the material and press
it with a hot ii-on. This will set the color,
and the waist can be washed any number
of times without injury to the design. Of
course you can not have it boiled.

Outline the edge of the stenciling with
outline stitch in black or self color or in a
contrasting color and work the curled
lines in outline or chain
stitch. The original
waist shown here was
stenciled in orange and
outlined in brown on tan
material.

Designs 10763 and 10764 are especially good for the Turanto stitch

The Turanto stitch

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST, 1919 PAGE 83

EMBROIDERIES THAT BLOOM IN AUGUST

New Motifs Mark the Frock, Home and Baby Things

BY MARIE ASHLEY

Embroidery design 10764

Embroidery design 10764

Embroidery design 10764. A new
scarf is equally well qualified to serve
on the sideboard in the dining-room
or to rest on the bureau of the bed¬
chamber. The design may be worked
in eyelets, satin-stitch, French stem¬
ming, outline embroidery and scalloping
and is for a scarf 20 inches wide by 62 or
54 inches long, and for a pincushion 83'2
inches wide by 23 inches long.

Embroidery design 10767

Embroidery design
10763

t

-

Embroidery design 10763. A very lovely centerpiece
matches the sideboard cover and can be worked in Turanto
stitch, a new padding stitch (described on opposite page).
It is very easy and effective. The design is for a centerpiece
36 inches in diameter, and can be worked in eyelets, satin-
stitcli, French stemming, outline and scalloping.

Dress 1736
Braid design 10762

Braid design 10762

Braid design 10762. A new braiding design successfully

borders the tunic, sleeves and neck of a Summer dress (1736).

The design can be done in braiding, couching, chain-stitch or

outline embroidery. The motif is developed for a banding 3 l 4 '

yards 4% inches wide, for an edging 1 % yard 1 34 inch wide, 6

motifs 3J4 x 23 -g inches, 4 motifs 834 x 534} inches, 4 motifs 15 U

x 6)4 inches and 2 motifs 7 54 x 534 inches.

* *

Embroidery design 10765. An adorably dainty design for a
baby’s sack Is" quite- worthy of the reigning prince of the nursery.
It is a one-piece sack and can be worked in satin-stitch, French
stemming, eyelets and scalloping. The sack is most babyfied
embroidered in soft pink or blue on white, and for the newest
baby it can be done in all white.

Embroidery design 10767 is for a darling little dress for a
child. It has been designed for a one-piece dress which may hang
straight or be drawn in at the waistline with a sash run through
slashes. The dress can have either a round or square neck and
can be embroidered in satin-stitch, eyelets, French stemming and
scalloping. The design is suitable and becoming for a child of
1 and 3 years.

Embroidery design 10766. A delightful rose motif puts a
fine front on a blouse or frock and can be adapted also to hats,
coats, skirts, etc. You can work it in satin-stitch, outline, chain-
stitch or couching. It is designed for a banding 2 34 yards 9%
inches wide, 434 yards M inch wide, 3 waist fronts 1834 x 1534
inches, 6 motifs 934 x 5 inches and 3 corners 11% x 6% inches.

The ‘Griswold” Szveater
the latest Flasher creation

A Novelty
in Knitting'-
An Easy,New
Lace Stitch!

F LE1SHER Yarns
were used to knit
this smart sweater.
They are always saf¬
est yarns for any fine
knitting, therefore
the most economi¬
cal; because infinite
pains are used to
keep them absolutely
uniform in size,
weight and finish.

And all women love
the fleeciness of Fleisher
Yarns and the many,
bewildering, beautiful
Fleisher shades.

Learn how to make
this and many other ex¬
clusive F leisher designs
- —in the newest Fleisher
Crocheting and Knit¬
ting Book. 10c at your
dealer’s. Or sent direct
by mail for 12c.

S. B. & B.W. FLEISHER, Inc.
Dept. 261 C, Philadelphia, Pa.

The

Fleisher

Yarns

Every Color in the Rainbow

PAGE 84

THE DELINEATOR FOR AUGUST , 1919

OTHER VIEWS ARE SHOWN ON FIGURES ON PAGES 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74 AND 75

Other views of these garments are shown on pages 70 and 71

1839 1708

1838 1703 1838

1750 1746

1826

Other views of these garments are shown on pages 72 and 73

1752

1816 1821

2TS

1771

1818

1800

1671

1729

1805

Other views of these garments are shown on

pages 66 and 67

’Other views of these garments are shown on pages 68 and 69

1767

( %

1758

1671 1517

1445

/ V

y

1813

Other views of these garments are shown on pages 74 and 75

1790

7461 1791 1809

1643 1824

tfS

1781

1777

1769